


Suffering Is a Guarantee and Happiness Is a Phase

by ChElFi



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captain Hill - Freeform, Child Abuse, Childhood, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, Gen, Headcanon, Minor Character Death, Non-Canonical Character Death, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:18:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChElFi/pseuds/ChElFi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief overview of Steve's and Maria's childhoods. This is Rated M for child abuse, all types of child abuse. Nothing sexually explicit, just inferred.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strong

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have a more explanatory note at the bottom but just wanted to post the basic stuff up here. It would seem anti-climactic afterwards. Anyway...so this story will be four, possibly five, chapters. It is nearly complete, when you read the note at the bottom you will better understand why. Probably post once a week so I can work out the difficult parts more slowly.
> 
> Also, I am now on a site called Dream Width under the same name. Lady Scribe of Avendell recommended it so I'm giving it a try. It's kinda like a blog, but I mostly post Captain Hill-ish stuff I find around the internet, including videos...yes, someone is shipping them on YouTube. Only two so far but I'll take what I can get. And I'll also be posting various thoughts about my stories as I write them and think them up.
> 
> The title of this story was taken from a line in a song by some group or person called Soja. I'm not really up on popular music. I like what I like and have to ask my kids who's singing it. :D Anyway, the song has nothing to do with the stories, or vice-versa, but the line was perfect.

 

Five-year-old Steven Rogers sat in the front pew of the church and leaned into his mother's embrace. He glanced up at Sarah Rogers as the words of the minister flowed over his head. Her eyes and face were wet with quiet tears, but she held her shoulders and head high, unbeaten by the tragedy. He could see her strength, even under the weight of the sorrow at the loss of her husband.

_"There's me lad," the weak voice said, as Steve walked into the bedroom._

_Joseph Rogers reached a trembling hand out to his son to invite him closer. Steve swallowed down his fear and confusion and stepped forward._

_His father looked at the face behind Steve and said, "See, he's a strong lad. Best for him t' see his pap one more time afore the angels come, than t' be sheltered as ye say."_

_Steve glanced back and saw his grandmother, his mother's mother, cast a not so kind look at his father. Looking back to the frail man on the bed, strengthened by his words, Steve stepped up to him and let his father lay a hand on his head._

_Across the bed from him Steve saw his mother. She gave him a tight smile and a proud nod through eyes wet with sorrow, and Steve found the courage to listen to his father's last words to him. His father told him about a blessing from the Bible and how the father would place his hand on his son's head to give it._

_"Yer a strong boy, Steven," he wheezed out with great effort. "And brave, and kind."_

_He paused as the coughing wracked his body and Sarah Rogers reached over for a bottle of medicine, but Joseph only waved her off, shaking his head._

_"Nay, love," he said. "I wanna be lucid when they come t' carry me home."_

_Turning back to Steve, he continued._

_"Ye and yer mam'll be just fine," he said. "Yer both strong, and ye have each other."_

_Then Joseph smiled a proud smile at his son._

_"One day, lad, ye'll do great things," he told him. "Because yer strength is from yer heart, it's who ye are."_

Little Steven stood straight and tall next to his mother at the graveside. The spring day was pleasant and the sun streamed through the clouds. As if heaven was shining down on them, his mother told him. As the funeral party dispersed, the people came and offered their condolences. Some offered words of advice, and Steve thought those made his mother more weary than her sorrow. When they were gone, and Steve and his mother made their way back to their small apartment, she told him that he never had to worry because they would be fine. She'd find work and, while life wouldn't be easy, they'd find a way to make it good.

And she had been right. It was a difficult life, but together they had always found a way to find the good. Even when they had to move to a smaller apartment., even when Steve went to bed hungry, his life was good because he saw the strength in his mother's face no matter their circumstances.

* * *

Five-year-old Maria Hill sat perfectly still in the chair next to her mother. She knew better than to fidget or wiggle, it wasn't worth the beating. The one the previous night had been bad enough, she'd barely been able to sit in her seat at school this morning, and all because her teacher had called and requested a meeting. Her mother had flown into a rage, wanting to know what the little bitch, as she always referred to Maria, had done now.

Now she sat, fearful of anything her teacher would say and what the consequences would be. She honestly didn't understand what the woman was telling her mother. Words like "gifted" and "bright" and "intelligent" were words she'd never heard anyone use to describe her.

"Your daughter is such a delight to have in my classroom," the old woman said, her brown eyes smiled as she glanced down at Maria. "Always so pleasant and patient."

"Well, she'd better be," her mother huffed. "She knows the consequences of stepping out of line."

Maria saw a look flash across her teacher's face, it was a look she'd seen before, and suddenly Maria was terrified. That look was the one the social workers usually gave before they took her away. But they always gave her back, and then Maria would have to move, again. She didn't want to move again. They'd only moved here one week ago. She liked going to her new school. She liked learning things. She liked her friends and her teacher.

But her mother didn't move them, not right away.

On the last day of school all of Maria's friends were happy and talking about what they were going to do during the summer. They talked about magical places Maria had only heard of and couldn't even imagine: Disneyland, the beach, Grandpa's farm. When they asked her, Maria said she was moving. Of course, they wanted to know where, but Maria didn't know. Her mother had only informed her of the move that morning, after Maria had told her she was getting an award from Mrs. Welch. She'd been so happy before that news.

Now, she stood and slowly walked to the front of the class after hearing Mrs. Welch call her name. Her friends sat with their parents or grandparents and everyone smiled, except Maria. She was too busy trying to force back the tears at the thought she'd never see any of these people again. When she looked up she was surprised to find her teacher had tears in her own eyes.

"Maria Hill," Mrs. Welch said, her voice thick with emotion. "You have been such a blessing to get to know. I will miss you very much. I am sad to hear that you are moving away."

She handed Maria a piece of paper and told her what her award was for.

"Your reward is for being strong," she said.

Maria was surprised, but even more when Mrs. Welch leaned down and took Maria in her arms. She stiffened at first. No teacher had ever touched her before, her mother always told everyone that Maria hated being touched, and so they didn't. It had been so long since anyone had touched her nicely that she wasn't sure what to do. But Mrs. Welch didn't pull away and Maria tentatively reached up her small arms to return the affection.

That afternoon, Maria had tried to hide her award. It was something she loved, therefore, she knew her mother would destroy it. She'd destroyed the gifts the aid agencies brought around at Christmas. She'd destroyed the pretty necklace her last foster family bought her for her birthday. But Maria could never get anything past her mother. She would suppose later that her mother could tell anytime Maria was happy and conceive some plan to destroy that.

Her mother found the paper inside Maria's pillowcase. When she read it she'd laughed so hard she'd dropped to the ground.

"You?" she breathed out between fits of laughter. "Strong?"

Maria worked to hide her pain as she watched her mother take away her award. She walked over to the kitchen sink with it and Maria wondered what the woman would do. Then Maria saw the lighter in her mother's hand.

Without thinking she screamed at her mother to stop. Too late she realized that she had just doomed herself to another beating. That night the pain seemed worse as she breathed in the smoke from the burned paper as she cried.

20 years later, when Maria graduated top of her class for SHIELD recruit training, after her summa cum laude at Georgetown, she used the resources now available to her to find Mrs. Welch. She discovered the woman had died ten years earlier, but Maria went to her grave in Indiana. She showed none of the fierce emotions she was feeling inside as she laid the paper down on top of the headstone, and a rock on top of that to keep it from blowing away. It was nothing really, just a children's award she had picked up at a school supply store in town. Maria had filled in the blanks to say,

**To**   _Mrs. Welch_

**for**   _Being Right_

**From**   _Maria Hill_

 


	2. Fighter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some people are born to it. Fighting is innate to their being. Some people discover it accidentally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, wow. Is it Friday already? I feel so behind but at least I remembered to post another chapter. :)
> 
> This one is darker still than the last. The darkest chapter is a toss up for me between 3 & 4\. Probably 3 is what everyone else will say.
> 
> Anyway, everything here is all from my head, except the salt-shaker incident. That did happen to me in real life, along with a variety of other household items and toys. As it has to far too many others. So I guess I'll dedicate this to all my fellow survivors. We are fighters whether we feel like it or not. :)

"Tell her you're sorry!" ten-year-old Steve Rogers yelled at Henry Frank.

As he glanced over at Shirley Jackson, Steve discovered her tears spurred his anger.

"Why should I?" the bigger boy mocked. "It wasn't as if I was lyin'."

Shirley's sobs increased at Henry's words and Steve felt himself clinch his fists. He stood his ground as the other boy attempted to use his substantial size to cause him to cower.

"What are you gonna do about it, runt?"

Steve's vision turned red and he pulled his fist back. There was a crack as it made contact with Henry's chin, then a terrible pain flashed through Steve's hand and up his arm. He bit back the ache and focused on Henry, as the boy stumbled backwards.

The look of shock on Henry's face soon turned to anger.

"Well you just think you're a real bruno, don'cha?" Henry asked.

Steve didn't know what a bruno was, but from the look on Henry's face, he didn't figure it was a good time to ask. He held up his fists to defend himself from his foot taller, 50 pound heavier adversary.

Steve didn't have to wait long. Henry came at him in a rush, his right fist making contact with Steve's eye and his left crushing into Steve's gut. Steve fell back against the wall, the sound of blood rushing through his ears nearly drowning out Shirley Jackson's screams. Through blurred vision he saw Henry pull back his arm again and raised his own fists in a futile effort to block the blow.

But no blow came.

Looking around, dazed, Steve saw Mr. Kelly, the grocer, holding Henry's arm back. He swung Henry around and struck his backside once with the yardstick he held in his hand. Henry screeched loudly then ran off when Mr. Kelly released him.

"Get on home, girl," he said to Shirley.

"Y-yes, sir," she said, then scrambled off without so much as a backwards glance at Steve.

Then Mr. Kelly turned his attention to him. Inwardly, Steve took stock that the man still held the yardstick in his hand. Outwardly, he didn't let his fear show. He had done right, it didn't matter what the adults thought. His face was a mix of defiance, pride, and pain.

"Boy, what were you thinking?" Mr. Kelly asked, his voice sounded more amused than angry.

Steve wasn't sure how to answer that question so he just stared up at the gorcer.

"That boy's nearly twice as big as you, all the way 'round," he commented before he started to chuckle.

He shook his head, then waved his hand to indicate Steve should follow him.

"We'd better get you cleaned up before we send you back home," he said, still laughing and shaking his head.

As they entered the store, Mr. Kelly cried out, "Mother, we have a boy here in need of your expertise."

Mrs. Kelly came out of the backroom and gasped loudly when she saw Steve's condition.

"Whatever did ye do, lad?" her soft Irish brogue a contrast to her husband's Brooklyn drawl.

"I think it's obvious that it was done to him, Mother," Mr. Kelly commented with another chuckle.

Then he turned to Steve.

"My wife will fix you right up," he told him. "She had years of practice on me when I was a young, hot-head like yourself."

When Steve heard Mr. Kelly refer to him that way he felt his anger begin to rise again. It must have shown on his face because Mr. Kelly had himself another good laugh before he went back to work, leaving Steve to follow Mrs. Kelly to the back of the store.

Mrs. Kelly ordered him to sit on a box then she disappeared up the stairs stating she'd be back with her kit. Steve found himself curious as he looked around. He'd never been in the backroom of a store. There were boxes, as well as more merchandise on shelves. He got up and began to wander, looking at each label to see what was in the crates. He came to one that had "Ireland" stamped on each side. Glancing around to make sure he was still alone, Steve tested the lid to see if it would give. Excitement bubbled up inside his chest when it did and he slowly opened it.

He let out a breath of disappointment when he found there was nothing but sawdust. He wondered why someone would ship sawdust all the way from Ireland. He was lowering the lid when he realized he was no longer alone in the room. Swallowing down his fear he turned to face Mrs. Kelly.

If he was expecting her to be angry, he received another round of disappointment. She only smiled at him.

"Curious, lad, are ye?" Mrs. Kelly smiled down at him.

"Ye want t' know what's in the box?" she nodded at the crate behind him.

"Sawdust," Steve managed to croak out.

She only shook her head. Setting down the small bag she was holding she walked over and opened the lid of the crate Steve into which had just been peering. He still saw nothing but the sawdust, seemingly undaunted by the visual facts Mrs. Kelly reached her hand down inside and when she pulled it out, she held an intricately painted china teacup.

Steve's mouth popped open in surprise. Then Mrs. Kelly set the teacup on another crate and reached into the sawdust again. Now she pulled out a dinner plate. She pulled out several more pieces and explained the sawdust was used to protect the china during shipping.

"And I suppose ye were so disappointed when ye opened the lid, lad," she smiled at him.

He nodded in acknowledgement as she stood and returned to her bag.

Sitting him back down on the box, Mrs. Kelly pulled out a bottle and a cloth. Pouring some of the liquid out of the bottle onto the cloth, she explained that it was antiseptic to clean the cut on his face and keep it from getting infected. Steve hadn't been aware there was a cut until then. The sting when Mrs. Kelly touched it with the cloth caused him to gasp through his clenched teeth, then he clamped his lips together and bit back the pain. Mrs. Kelly cocked a bemused eyebrow and him, but said nothing and continued her work. She finished it off by taping a bandage across the cut beside his eye, commenting that the bandage made it look worse than it really was. She cleaned up the medical supplies and returned them upstairs.

"I think I'll take ye to yer mam," she told him when she returned, now with a paper bag in her hand.

She laughed lightly when Steve's head sagged at the reminder that he had to face his mother.

They walked out the front of the store and Steve thanked Mr. Kelly who leaned in and admonished him to use more than his fists when battling giants, even David used a stone.

At that Mrs. Kelly gasped and told her husband to stop putting ideas into the lad's head that were bound to get him far worse than this beating.

It wasn't a long walk to his apartment but Steve didn't want to get there too quickly. He didn't know what his mother would say. Would she be angry that he hit someone? He'd never been in a fight before but he'd heard boys at school talk about the switchings they'd get after theirs. Worse than the thought of pain to his own body was the thought that his mother might be disappointed in him, even though he knew he'd done what was right, defending Shirley Jackson.

"Do ye want to tell me why ye felt the need t' fight that hooligan?" Mrs. Kelly asked as they walked along.

"He called Shirley a bad name," Steve replied.

"What did he say?" she asked.

Steve looked up at the woman with wide eyes. He couldn't say that word, even in an explanation. That would be the sort of thing that would have a bar of soap in his mouth faster than he could think.

"Uh, I can't really say the word," he said, and hoped she didn't press it. He didn't want to get into more trouble than he might already be in.

Mrs. Kelly shook her head.

"Boys like that Henry always end up no good," she said.

They finished their walk in silence and when they arrived at his apartment, Steve climbed the steps and opened the door for Mrs. Kelly. He followed her up the stairs, thankful she was taking each step slowly. They reached the third floor and Steve led her to the door of his apartment. He knocked and heard his mother's steps as they crossed the floor. When she opened the door the surprise showed on her face.

"Oh, lad, what happened to ye?" she said softly, as she ushered Steve and Mrs. Kelly into her apartment.

Steve looked up at Mrs. Kelly who nodded; this would be his story to tell.

"I was in a fight with Henry Frank," he told her, then glanced up at Mrs. Kelly who again nodded for him to finish the story.

"He called Shirley Jackson a bad name," he said.

"What could he have said that was so terrible?" his mother asked.

Steve's face went red with embarrassment. If he had to say that word in front of his mother he might put the soap into his mouth himself. Instead he shook his head to indicate his refusal to answer and awaited the consequences of his disobedience.

His mother's face grew dark with anger. He'd never seen her so mad. But he stood his ground. He knew he'd done the right thing, if the adults couldn't see that, he'd bear the brunt of their displeasure.

She glanced at Mrs. Kelly, then said something in Irish that Steve didn't understand. Mrs. Kelly's face was grim and she nodded to whatever it was his mother had told her. When his mother looked back at Steve her face had softened and she smiled. Steve felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

"Well, ye should change out of those clothes so I can take a look at them and see if they need mending," she said, and Steve walked toward the bedroom.

"Stay for tea, Kathleen?" she asked Mrs. Kelly.

"That would be wonderful, Sarah."

When Steve returned to the women, they were sitting at the table waiting for him. He took his place and saw that there were fresh scones along with the sandwiches and tea.

"Ye can thank Mrs. Kelly for the scones," his mother told him, which he did.

Steve enjoyed his tea and listened as the women talked. As his belly was filled and he relaxed, Steve finally started to notice the pain. His head was throbbing and his ribs ached. He didn't realize that it showed on his face until there was a lull in the conversation and he looked up to find his mother and Mrs. Kelly staring at him with concern.

Steve's mother excused herself then led him into the bedroom where she had him get into bed. She left, then returned with a bottle of cough syrup and a spoon. Steve dutifully swallowed the spoonful down. Then he laid back down onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

He heard his mother walk away from his bed. Before she closed the door, he heard Mrs. Kelly say, "Ye've got quite the fighter in that lad, Sarah. But I think I'll call him 'Sawdust.'" The laughter seeped through the door. It would be years before Steve understood Mrs. Kelly's meaning.

* * *

"Holy shit," the man spat as he looked over ten-year-old Maria Hill. "You really weren't kidding when you told me you didn't kill it."

Maria allowed her disgust at the man's cigarette and beer drenched breath to deflect the pain of his words. Aside from the horrible breath, it was possible it had been days since he'd bathed. His face was shining as the lights in the room reflected off the oil on it, and his hair was matted and greasy. His body odor was enough to make Maria turn her lunch, if she'd had any that day.

"Yeah," her mother commented, stepping past the man to push Maria down onto the chair she'd just stood from. "Biggest mistake of my life."

"Well, I told you it was a bad idea to keep it," the man continued, and Maria noted he probably hadn't changed his clothes since his last bath, and from the stains across the front of his shirt that clung to his fat gut, he must use it as a napkin.

"Kids are worthless pieces of crap," he continued.

When he reached to touch her face, Maria quickly jumped out of the chair and scampered away from him.

"Stupid brat," he yelled.

"Bitch," her mother said to her. "Get over here and let your father take a look at you."

Maria swallowed down the bile that rose to her throat. This was her father. Her mother had told her about him. She'd said the man had been the best thing that had ever happened to her but had left her because she refused to get an abortion when she learned she was pregnant with Maria.

When Maria didn't budge, her mother picked up the salt-shaker, the nearest item, and threw it hard at her. She ducked, but her mother's aim had always been good and it hit Maria square on the back. This earned loud laughter from both her parents.

"Well, at least you know how to keep the terror in line," her father finally said.

Maria thought briefly of running for the door, but couldn't think of where to go after that. Her mother had only moved them to Indianapolis a few days earlier and Maria knew no one. Too late she thought that it didn't matter, just as long as she got away from them.

Her father stepped over to her and pulled her up by the hair. He leaned in close and peered at her, as if he normally needed glasses to see someone this close. Maria could barely breath, and not just for fear. His odor was so strong that she couldn't get away from it even if she breathed through her mouth. She coughed involuntarily to clear her lungs and some of her spittle splashed on the man's face. Immediately he flew into a rage and Maria found herself flying to the other side of the small room. She landed with a thud on her side, though that didn't hurt nearly as much as the back of her head where he'd been holding her by her hair.

He walked over to her and slammed her face with the palm of his hand. Maria tried to back away in the direction of the door but he pulled her up then threw her onto the couch. She braced herself for another hit, but he seemed satisfied that she had paid for her act and went to sit next to her mother at the table.

"She looks like my whore mother," he said, shaking his head. "Ugly as sin."

Maria's mother laughed.

"She probably eats too much, too," he commented. "Gonna be a fat pig when she grows up."

Maria kept the thought in her head that she hadn't eaten since dinner last night and that the man should really look in a mirror if he wanted to see a fat pig. He must have been all of 300 pounds, Maria thought, and not very much taller than her.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes. Raising an eyebrow at Maria, he asked her if she wanted a smoke.

Maria shook her head.

"She don't smoke," her mother said. "Believes all the shit they teach her at school."

"You let her go to school?" her father asked, as he lit his cigarette.

He took a long drag, then handed it to her mother.

"Yeah," she said. "Keeps the questions down."

"She'll get ideas from school and then she'll think she's better than the whore she's gonna be," her father commented.

Her mother laughed.

"She already thinks she's better," she said. "Look at her eyes. I can't beat enough of that shit pride out of them."

Her father peered at Maria again.

"Damn, if you ain't right," he said. "I see it there. She probably thinks she's gonna do better some day."

They both laughed at that and Maria didn't comment that she knew she would. Her teachers were always telling her how smart she was and to keep studying so she could do well in life. It's why she spent all her free time in the library. She wished today wasn't Sunday, she would have been there instead of here.

Her father turned to her and gave her a hard look. Maria refused to let the fear she was beginning to feel show.

"You listen to me, bitch," he said. "You are nothing but a whore and you won't never do any better. Stop listening to those asshole teachers of yours. They don't know shit about real life."

He leaned back in his chair, as if his words had settled the matter and Maria's future was set in stone. Maria tried to keep her anger from showing, but realized she was unsuccessful as both her parents looked at her.

"Damn, bitch, needs a hard lesson," her mother said.

"Well, looks like that's another thing you're no good at," Maria's father told her mother. "I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

Snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table, he stood and made an attempt to pull his jeans up over his huge belly. Maria would have laughed if she didn't know she was in for a beating.

Her father walked over to her and grabbed her by her shirt.

"It's about time you learned what you really are, whore," he sneered in her face.

Maria knew exactly what that word meant and in her mind she had no doubt what her father intended to do to her. She felt herself begin to shake with fear.

"Not here, asshole," her mother said. "The neighbors will hear her scream and call the damned cops."

Her father gave a wicked grin, then dragged her from the apartment. Maria had no idea where they were going, she just knew she had to get away from him. Her father had grabbed her by the waist to carry her to his car.

"Let's go for a ride," he whispered hoarsely in her ear.

And something snapped inside Maria, something she didn't even know was there. She screamed at the top of her lungs and wiggled free from his grip. Then she began to kick at his knees and scratch his arms as he reached to grab her.

"You stupid little whore," he bellowed. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Maria didn't stop. When her father got hold of her and attempted to cover her mouth, Maria bit down hard on his hand until she drew blood. His scream of pain only served to spur her on in her self-defense. He grabbed her up again, this time her face was in his chest. She raised her knee as hard as she could, just like she'd seen in TV shows, and this time her father dropped her with a high-pitched yell as he grabbed in pain at his crotch and stumbled backwards.

Maria's blood was rushing so loudly through her ears she never heard the sirens, or the police officers yelling. Her father had turned onto the ground to lay flat and had put his hands up on the back of his head. Then she saw the officers and their guns drawn on him. And finally she allowed herself a calming breath.

While one of the officers held his gun on her father, the other put a knee in his back and began to cuff him. Then that officer reached into her father's pocket to pull out his wallet.

"Oh, my g-," he said.

He reached back and handed the ID he'd found in the wallet to his partner.

"You have got to be kidding me," his partner exclaimed.

The cuffing officer rolled her father over onto his back and both policemen gaped in surprise. Her father's face was a bloody mess of scratches. As the cuffing officer began to get him off the ground and read him his rights, his partner holstered his gun and walked over to Maria.

"Did you do that?" he smiled.

She just nodded, her body still trembling with the fear and adrenaline.

"You are an amazing little girl," he said. "You've got fight in you like I've never seen."

The other officer joined them as several more police cars arrived.

"Do you know who that is?" this officer jerked his finger back toward her father in backseat of the patrol car.

Maria shook her head. She didn't really want to tell them it was her father.

"That's Ronny Baldini," he said. "He's wanted in five states for kidnapping, theft, well, you name it."

The officer smiled at her.

"And you caught him," he said.

Maria felt her mouth fall open.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Ten," she said, her surprised voice sounding foreign to her.

"What's your name?"

Before Maria could answer, she heard her mother call out across the parking lot.

"Oh, my baby, what's going on?"

Then she rushed up and took Maria into her arms. She was shocked at first before coming to her senses and recognizing her mother's usual behavior to keep Maria with her and away from the social workers.

"Ma'am," the officer said. "That man in the patrol car just tried to kidnap your daughter."

Her mother gasped dutifully and clung to Maria even more tightly.

"We'd like to talk with her and get her statement," he said.

"Of course, officer," her mother said, sounding like she was truly concerned. "Shall I bring her down to the station?"

"Well, we could talk to her here first," he said, but her mother shook her head.

"Not here, in front of the neighbors," she told him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card.

"This is the station's address and phone number," he told her as he handed her the card. "And that's my name, so just ask for me when you get there."

He paused as another siren was heard in the background.

"That'll be the paramedics," he said. "They'll take a look at your daughter and make sure she doesn't have any injuries."

Maria looked up as her mother shook her head.

"After this I don't want strangers touching her," she said, and Maria had to admit that her mother was a terribly good actress. She almost believed the woman cared.

"I'll take her to our own doctor."

The officer looked at her a bit strangely but acquiesced. Then Maria's mother took her back to the apartment and locked the door. She began flying around, throwing everything back into the bags and boxes they'd just unpacked, snapping at Maria when she didn't help. They didn't have much and were done in less than 30 minutes.

An hour later, Maria and her mother were on I-70 W, heading toward the Illinois state line. As Maria watched out the window at the flat nothingness, she tried to process the events of the day. Her father was even worse than her mother. Until today, she didn't know that could be possible. The things he wanted to do to her she had seen in movies her mother watched with various boyfriends and Maria felt a sick feeling start in the pit of her stomach that wouldn't leave for many more months.

When they crossed the border, Maria's mother told her to lay down on the floorboard in the back seat and cover with a blanket. Maria sighed, but did as she was told. Her mother parked then was gone for about an hour. When she returned, they drove a while longer before Maria's mother permitted her to get up.

They were in the middle of a field. Maria could see no buildings and nothing but the dirt road they'd driven on. Her mother took out some scissors and cut Maria's hair. This was fairly usual when they ran, sometimes she'd even have to get it dyed, but this time her mother cut it all the way down. Then she handed her some clothes that were obviously boys' clothing, down to the underpants. Maria changed dutifully then listened as her mother told her that she was now to refer to herself as 'Mark.' And she was to talk with no policemen or there would be hell to pay. Maria nodded, then got back into the car.

They drove for several more hours. Maria saw the Arch in the distance and knew they were heading for St. Louis. Her mother had "friends" in this city and they often fled here whenever her mother saw the need. They holed up in a motel and Maria hid in the bathroom with the door locked whenever her mother had her "friends" over. On one such day, she had actually fallen asleep in there and awoke to silence. She carefully cracked the door open and found she was alone. The room was its usual chaotic mess. Her mother didn't put much stock into cleaning up after herself. The bedding was disheveled, and there were spent cigarette butts and ashes piled in the ash tray, and condoms laying haphazardly around the room.

Maria sighed and cleared a place on the floor to sit. Ignoring the rumbling in her stomach, she sat and used the remote to flip on the TV. Finding nothing on she flipped mindlessly through the channels wishing she had a book to read, instead. Shortly, though, she found a national news show and on the screen was a picture of her father. The report explained in detail all the things he was wanted for and Maria felt her eyes grow wide and her throat tighten.

The news then switched to a recording of a press conference. Maria stared in surprise as she watched the officer she recognized detail the account of her father's capture, telling the media all about the brave little girl who had fought off Ronny Baldini. They held up a composite of her and Maria stood to look in the mirror next to the TV. She no longer looked like that at all. Her hair was a butch job, and the baggy boys' clothing hid even the fact that she was a girl.

"We'd really like to find this little girl," the officer said. "Her name is Mary or Maria. We don't have an actual last name as her mother was using an alias. We believe her mother has taken her out of state. It is possible that her mother is an associate of Baldini so the girl is not necessarily safe."

The officer gave two of Maria's mother's aliases, but neither were ones she was using now. Then he took more questions and one reporter asked about Maria.

The officer shook his head and said, "I really don't know, but I know she's a fighter."

Maria smiled with pride and thought, as she looked at his blond hair and blue eyes, that he was a rather handsome looking man.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, that last line was a shameless foreshadowing of her attraction to Steve. I had to do something nice. :)
> 
> Please visit me at captainhillshipper dot dreamwidth dot org if you want. Would love to discuss writing and reading and how awesome fanfiction is. :D Have a great weekend. :)


	3. Deceived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OK, here it is. Chapter three. God help you. Seriously. If you have any triggers about anything ever in your life, you might want to skip this chapter entirely. It is, IMO, the worst of all of them. As I said in the first chapter, I will never write anything this dark again. Had no idea I could even go this dark, actually. Well, except that one story I wrote for English class in 8th grade in which my father and step-mother murdered me and my siblings. Yeah, they apparently didn't worry about that sort of stuff in the early 80's, coz I got a B on the assignment. :D But I digress...intentionally...to offset the rest.
> 
> I did give it an incredibly over the top happily ever after ending that I hadn't intended to...but I needed to be able to edit the dang story and I couldn't as it stood. The ending was supposed to be a part of a later story but I'll just edit it to be told from Steve's POV when I get around to editing it.
> 
> Oh, yeah, and this is really, freaking long. The story itself is 8,107 words.

 

Fifteen-year-old Steve Rogers opened his locker, set his books in the bottom, and began to remove his coat and scarf. Hanging them on the hook under the top shelf, he reached back down for his math book before heading to class. As he turned away from his locker, he discovered Shirley Jackson standing next to him and committing the odd act of looking at him as if he existed.

"Hi, Steve," she said.

Steve opened his mouth to say 'hello,' but nothing came out. Shirley hadn't spoken to him since they'd started high school. In fact, not many people had. Steve had never been a brilliant conversationalist, and, as his friends grew up and started to talk about things beyond books or school or work, he really wasn't sure what to say. And girls were the worst. He was never sure what to say to a girl. They looked so different from when he was younger, actually, everyone did. It seemed to him that he'd somehow missed something he was supposed to do to keep up and now he'd never catch up.

Shirley, fortunately, ignored his obvious discomfort and continued talking.

"Are you going to the spring dance?" she asked.

Steve was glad for a question that didn't necessarily require a verbal answer, and shook his head.

"Would you like to go with me?" she asked.

Steve stared at her dumbfounded. It wasn't just that she was asking him out that surprised him, it was that she was asking him out and he knew she was already dating another fellow.

"W-what ab-bout W-William," he managed to stutter out.

Shirley rolled her eyes and shook her head, the look on her face made it clear that she was not happy with William.

"William is an idiot," she said, without further comment.

Steve waited for a minute, thinking she might say more, but she remained silent.

"Um, I-I guess," he said, and his words about having to ask his mother were lost in Shirley's squeal of excitement.

"Oh, thank you," she said.

Then, she turned around and ran off to class, leaving Steve open mouthed and trying to get out a "You're welcome."

It was difficult to pay attention at school that day. Steve spent the first hour, or so, coming to terms with the fact that he'd been asked out by an actual girl for an actual date. Once his mind accepted that he hadn't just dreamed the event, he discovered he had developed on odd flutter in his stomach. It made him unable to eat his lunch or to concentrate on much of anything his teachers said.

By the time school ended, Steve felt as if he was walking on the clouds. He couldn't get the image of Shirley out of his mind. Steve might be shy, but he knew a pretty girl when he saw one. And Shirley was one of the prettiest. Her black curls, grey eyes, touch of freckles on her slightly turned up nose, and her lips that seemed to pout even when she smiled, were all the things that Steve thought made her maybe perfect.

He arrived at his job at Kelly's Grocery Store and went about his business until Mr. Kelly cleared his throat rather abruptly as Steve was filling Mrs. Ryan's order.

"That's flour, boy," he heard Mr. Kelly say. "Not sugar."

Looking down at the scale, Steve felt his whole body grow warm as his face turned red with embarrassment. _  
_

Mr. Kelly just chuckled and pulled out the sugar for him as Steve cleaned up the flour.

"So who's the girl?" his boss asked him after Mrs. Ryan left.

"G-girl?" Steve asked, and was sure he blushed an even deeper shade of red.

"It's pretty obvious your brain is on the gentler sex," Mr. Kelly laughed, and patted him on the back.

Steve figured it was safe to tell Mr. Kelly. He'd known the man all his life and always found him to be trustworthy.

"I got asked to the spring dance," Steve said.

Mr. Kelly smiled proudly at him.

"That's great, boy," he said, then, he paused and looked to be thinking about something important.

"You'll need a corsage, you know," the man informed him.

Steve shook his head. He hadn't thought about flowers.

"Yep," Mr. Kelly explained. "Can't take a pretty girl to a dance without bringing her a flower."

Steve felt dejected. He hadn't thought about the cost. Flowers were far too expensive.

"Now, don't you worry," Mr. Kelly said. "Why don't you work an extra hour each day this week? That should help pay for the flowers."

"But that would put too much burden on you," Steve countered.

Things were so tight in the midst of the depression. Steve already suspected Mr. Kelly had given him a job out of the kindness of his heart, not out of an overabundance of profit.

"Don't you worry about that," Mr. Kelly smiled. "You're a hard worker and a good young man. You deserve this."

Steve didn't know what to say more than, "Thank you."

When he arrived home, he found his mother, Sarah, at the stove.

"There y'are, lad," she said. "I was beginnin' t' think ye didn't need t' eat t'day."

Steve apologized to her for his tardiness and explained the new arrangement at Kelly's and the reason for it. When he asked her permission to take Shirley to the dance, she told him it was fine, and the smile on her face made him wonder if she wasn't slightly more happy than he.

He helped her get out the bowls for their soup and she ladled it into them. They sat down and Steve said the grace before they started eating. There was a bit of bread still to go along with what was mostly broth these days. Occasionally, there were older vegetables at Kelly's and Steve could purchase them for a fraction of the normal price and then the soup would be more filling, but Mr. Kelly hadn't been able to get in much fresh produce yet, and he didn't expect anything any time soon with the way the farms were.

After they were mostly finished, his mother poured them some tea and then she brought up his clothing for the dance.

"Ye'll have to have something nice t' wear," she told him.

"I'll just wear my Sunday suit," he said.

"Lad," she said. "That was yer pap's and I've hemmed up the sleeves so much ye can barely bend yer arms."

It was true. Steve's mother counted on him growing more over the next several years so she hadn't cut any of the cloth off the ends of the coat sleeves or the pants because she didn't have the guarantee of being able to afford new material when it became necessary.

"I'll work something out," she said, and Steve could begin to see her thinking up some way to get him a nice, new suit.

It was then, in hindsight, that Steve should have decided that this dance was far more trouble to people he cared for than it was worth. It was that moment, he'd realize later, he should have determined to go to Shirley the next day and just tell her he couldn't afford it. But she'd been so excited when he'd told her he wanted to go to the dance with her, and he really did think she was terribly pretty. And no one had ever given him that sort of attention and he discovered that he actually liked it.

So, for the next week he worked extra hours for the Kelly's. And his mother was able to take in more mending and ironing, something that made him more than a bit guilty since it meant she had to stay up even later in the evening. But she said it was just fine. The days were getting longer anyway.

Finally, his mother had enough to buy some black wool for the suit and began to sew it. Steve had socked away enough money from his extra hours to order the corsage at the flower shop. As he ticked the days off the calendar, Steve grew more and more excited. Each morning when he looked in the mirror he smiled as he imagined himself walking into the dance wearing his new suit, with Shirley on his arm. He had told her he didn't dance but she had promised she'd teach him, and so, as the day drew nearer, Steve found himself once again walking on the clouds.

"Ye look mighty handsome, lad," his mother said, as she stood from where she'd been pinning up his new pants to mark the hem. "Ye remind me so much of yer pap."

Steve saw tears come to her eyes and he stepped to her to put his arms around her. He hadn't seen her cry over anything in years.

"Don't ye be worryin' none, lad," she admonished him. "These are but happy tears."

Then she pulled away so she could wipe her eyes with her kerchief.

He removed the suit so she could finish the hems and went to do his homework. With the dance only a day away, however, it was proving very difficult. Tomorrow night he and Shirley would walk into the school gym and dance. He could only imagine how wonderful it would be.

The next day, he all but skipped to school. He could hardly contain his excitement. The whole school was buzzing about the dance and that only fed his energy. After lunch he stopped by his locker to get his history book for his next class. Shirley's friend, Connie, was waiting for him. Connie was one of the only people in school smaller than Steve. Her tight blond curls and big blue eyes gave her a look of being barely old enough to be in high school.

"Connie," Steve smiled politely at her.

Suddenly, Connie started to cry. Steve hesitantly stepped toward her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"What's the matter?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Oh, Steve," she said. "I'm so sorry."

Steve didn't understand.

"What are you sorry about?" he asked.

"Shirley, she," Connie stopped speaking, her hiccups were pronounced as she tried to get control of her emotions as the tears streamed down her face.

Steve pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"Shirley is a horrible person," she finally managed to get out, as she wiped her eyes. "I hate her."

Steve was taken aback.

"W-why?" he asked.

Connie looked at him as if she was going to tell him something terrible, in fact, he'd seen that look before. It was on a man's face when he came around to tell his mother about the accident his father had been in at work. It had seemed to him at the time, though he was only five, that the man obviously did not want to be the one to deliver the news.

"What happened?" Steve asked, trying to be brave, not knowing exactly what he was facing.

Connie closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again and giving Steve a sad look.

"Shirley only asked you to the dance to make William jealous," she told him.

Steve swallowed that information down with a tight throat. But before he could process it, Connie gave him the rest.

"She and William are going to the dance together," she said.

Steve was certain he felt his heart stop at the pain, and not just at his embarrassment, but at the cost Mr. Kelly and his mother had paid.

"I'm so sorry," she said again. "I only just found out at lunch when Shirley was laughing about it with her friends."

Steve stood still as the shock began to take over. He heard Connie say that she'd go with him except her parents didn't let her "date or go to dances or even really talk with boys."

"Maybe I can find someone who will go with you," she told him.

He turned to her and smiled a tight smile and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," she said, again.

"There's no need for you to apologize," he told her, his voice barely a whisper. "It's not your fault. You were kind to tell me."

Then he turned and walked numbly to class.

He could hear the chatter around him, feel the gaze of the other students, knew he was the brunt of their jokes, but Steve didn't show it. He focused on the lectures from the teachers, he held his head up and kept up the proverbial stiff upper lip. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

That afternoon, Steve went to the flower shop to pay for the remaining balance and pick up the flowers, then he headed straight home. He had already been given the afternoon off by Mr. Kelly and he didn't want to tell the man how his money and generosity had been wasted. He took the stairs slowly, trying to concentrate on how he disliked living on the third floor and all the stairs he had to climb. His conscience was conflicted over the deception he was about to attempt. It didn't matter how he looked at it, he couldn't figure out a way to tell his mother the truth. So he had decided he would just go through with pretending everything was as they had planned.

Sarah Rogers was humming a glad tune as Steve walked into the apartment. She smiled up at him from setting the table for their tea and Steve gave her a tight smile in return.

"Somethin' wrong, lad?" she asked, and Steve worked to school his reaction.

He shook his head at her and took his books and the flowers into the bedroom to change out of his school clothes.

When he returned, he saw the bounty of food on the table and couldn't keep the shocked look off his face. Aside from sandwiches there were scones and even some fresh berries. He looked at his mother for an explanation.

"I couldn't let ye go to the dance without a full gullet," she told him, and Steve's guilt suddenly felt as if it would weigh him down so much he'd go through the floor.

"Sure there's nothin' wrong?" she asked again, the worry on her face causing a lump to form in his throat.

"Just nervous," he said, as he shook his head, then, relaxed slightly as she accepted his lie with a smile.

It was difficult to eat knowing what this had cost his mother and that it was all for nothing. But he did, if only to not be disrespectful of the sacrifice she had made for him.

At 5pm, Steve was dressed in his new suit and ready to go. He picked up the small box of flowers and headed down the stairs, trying futilely to push aside the image of his mother's proud smile as he left. He really had no destination in mind, he just hoped to somehow stay out of the sights of anyone he knew who might notice his dress. He found an alley and ducked in, then walked to the next block. Finally he ended up on the edge of his neighborhood and knew he could go no further unless he wanted to bring trouble on himself.

Clouds had started rolling in bringing the evening's darkness more quickly and affording him the cover of night sooner than he had hoped. He slowly walked back the way he came, until he found himself in an alley down the street from the school. He watched as some of his fellow students arrived. Steve knew this was foolish on his part, he was only asking for more pain, but he waited until he saw Shirley arrive with William. He watched them laughing as they entered the school together and tried not to believe they were laughing at him. He felt a few drops on his head as the rain began to fall, then he turned and headed deeper into the alley.

There was a vacant warehouse whose lock Steve knew to be broken. He planned to wait there until a few hours had passed, then he'd go home and act as if he'd had a wonderful time at the dance. By the time he did walk home he was truly tired. He'd had to stand the entire time because the warehouse interior was covered in dirt and that would have brought questions he didn't want to answer. He felt fortunate that his asthma hadn't acted up at all.

He ran the few blocks quickly to avoid getting his suit too wet in the light rain that was still falling. But when he walked into his building he took the steps slowly. His mother was waiting up and smiled at him from her mending when he entered.

"How was it lad?" she asked.

Then Steve told her every lie he'd made up when he was standing in the warehouse, the dancing, the people, the lights, the decorations. He'd never really lied in his life and he felt like he was going to be ill. It must have shown on his face because he mother told him she was worried he'd caught a chill in the rain, he looked sickly. She made him take his wet clothes off and get into his pajamas, then she gave him some tea to warm him. As Steve lay in bed that night he couldn't sleep for the lies he'd told.

A month later, he wore the new suit again, this time for a beautiful person who had actually loved him.

He stood at the graveside as the minister delivered the brief eulogy. There had been even less money to bury Sarah Rogers than there had been to bury Joseph ten years earlier. But Steve had managed to lay her to rest next to his father, and, to Steve, that's what mattered the most.

The cold had come on quickly, and Steve blamed himself for his mother being susceptible because of her exhaustion from working extra to pay for his new suit. Before he knew it his mother's breathing had become labored. Less than a week after the first symptoms, Sarah Rogers had succumbed to pneumonia. Her last words to him had been similar to his fathers. She reminded him what a brave lad he was, but then she said something that surprised him.

"And ye have a heart far bigger than most lads yer age," she told him. "The way ye take care of everyone around ye, puttin' their needs ahead of yer own, yer a good, strong lad, Steven, and ye'll be a great, strong man some day.

"And one day, some woman will see through yer weakened outer shell to all that ye truly are," she said. "And she'll be a lucky lass, indeed."

He wondered then, if she didn't really know the truth of that night. Had she known he'd lied all that time? The way he had deceived his mother would weigh on Steve for many years and he vowed he'd never do something like that again.

* * *

Fifteen-year-old Maria Hill stared in surprise at the man across the table from her. She wasn't sure she'd heard him right. Nor, apparently, was her mother.

"What did you say?" her mother asked.

"I said, 'Leave Maria the hell alone,'" her mother's new boyfriend replied. "She didn't do anything wrong."

"Tad, she ain't sittin' straight," her mother told him.

"She's sitting fine," he said, exasperation obvious in his voice. "Just let us eat in peace, for once."

Maria gaped openly at the man. Rarely had anyone stood up for her, and never to her mother. She looked for any sign of joking on the man's face, but he was perfectly serious. His dark brows were furrowed as if he was annoyed that her mother had spent the first ten minutes of the meal berating Maria for her supposedly non-existent table manners.

While she was still staring, Tad glanced up and gave her a tight smile, his green eyes crinkled into a friendly look. Maria quickly looked down at her food and spent the rest of the meal eating in the unusual silence.

The next several days, the scene repeated itself in a variety of situations. Whenever her mother would begin to get on her case about something, Tad would come to Maria's defense. Maria really wasn't sure what to think. She was used to her mother's boyfriend's either ignoring her, or doling out their own abuse. Her mother didn't seem pleased about it but she went along with it; mostly, Maria supposed, because this boyfriend had money and a car. Instead of the usual "moocher," this one took her mother out to dinner and movies. He had a job, dressed nicely, usually in a suit, and his car was clean and late model.

After a few weeks of this, Maria noticed that her mother had stopped attacking her as much in private. For the first time in her life with her mother, Maria found herself not as afraid to go home after school. It was a strange, but nice, feeling.

As the weeks went by, Tad spent more and more time with Maria and her mother. He often took Maria on outings, and she started to wonder if he wasn't planning on marrying her mother. She'd heard from people at school about things their future step-fathers did before their moms married them and it certainly seemed similar.

At first, Maria was uneasy with the idea. Her mother had never been married and it would be strange to have another person stay with them permanently. But as she got to know Tad and began to feel as if he was a person who really cared about her, she began to warm to the idea. She wondered if maybe they'd be able to stay in the same place for more than a few months, and maybe she'd never have to go back into foster care. Maybe she could have a normal family like the other kids at school had.

Several months into this dream, something happened that, in hindsight, should have been a warning to Maria. It should have, she realized later, made her more cautious, more wary of Tad.

They'd spent the day at the mall. Tad had bought her a few new pieces of clothing, which Maria thought was amazing. Her mother had always raided those clothing drop-off boxes outside liquor stores for Maria's wardrobe and to have something from Red Eye like the other girls at school made Maria feel special. They were standing next to his car while Maria waited for him to unlock and open the door for her when Tad looked at her differently than he had previously. Maria felt a twinge of uneasiness, but she fought it back, reasoning that she just wasn't comfortable with someone being so nice to her.

Over the next several weeks Tad started looking at her that way more and more. He was still kind and generous, he often picked her up from school so she wouldn't have to walk home, he bought her nice things, and always defended her. Slowly she warmed up to his new way of looking at her, shoving aside the growing realization that he only looked at her that way when no one else was around. She couldn't think poorly of him, he was the first person to treat her this kindly in years, since her last foster family.

One Saturday afternoon, Maria's mother was at work and Maria was doing her homework when there was a knock at the door. She looked through the peep-hole and saw Tad. It was unusual for him to come over when he knew her mother was at work, and briefly Maria's stomach tightened in fear. But she brushed that aside, reminding herself that Tad was probably the first person her mother had dated from whom she had nothing to fear. She was just being paranoid.

She opened the door and asked him in, and he pulled a bag out from behind him.

"I brought Taco Bell," he said, smiling. "I figured you might be hungry."

Maria smiled back at him.

"Thanks," she said, then stepped back to the table and began to move her books aside to make room to eat.

As they devoured the tacos and burritos, Tad asked her about school and homework, things like her favorite subject, a question Maria was sure no one had ever asked her. She talked about her Western Civ class and Chemistry. She had never talked to anyone about this. Most people thought she was a nerd for liking what they considered boring subjects. For his part, Tad seemed to hang on every word she said about the Napoleonic Wars, even interjecting questions as they spoke.

They finished their meal and, as they cleaned up their trash, Tad asked Maria if she ever went to any school dances.

"No," Maria said, and blushed.

"Is it a money issue?" he asked.

"I just don't want to go alone," she said, suddenly embarrassed over something she'd never even thought about before.

"No guys ever ask you to go?"

Maria shook her head and laughed.

"What's so funny about that?" Tad asked.

"No guy would ask me out," Maria said. "I'm not pretty or interesting at all."

Her self-deprecation was sincere, she did not have the slightest notion that anyone could consider her worth their time.

"You're wrong about that," Tad said, and something in his voice made her turn to look at him.

"You're a very beautiful young woman," he continued. "You have a lot to offer to anyone who is smart enough to see that."

The way he said the words, with such conviction, the emotion causing his voice to catch, made Maria feel warm inside. It was not an embarrassed warm that she usually got if a teacher or school counselor said something nice about her, this was different and she wondered if this might be what it felt like to have someone love her.

Over the next several weeks, Maria's dreams and fantasies about being a part of a real family, a normal family, increased every time she was with Tad. Her mother still was derisive, but not remotely as much as she used to be, and never when Tad was around. Maria couldn't deny that Tad treated her the way she'd observed other fathers treat their daughters. The occasional hand on the shoulder or pat on the back were appropriate affections, and she was really never nervous around him as she'd been around all of her mother's other boyfriends.

A month after his first unannounced visit while her mother was at work, Tad again brought lunch to her. They ate and talked and everything was normal, until Tad was leaving. He looked at her in a way she'd never seen before, then he touched her face and leaned down to kiss her cheek. He pulled back, smiled a friendly smile at her, then left.

Maria's heart pounded in her chest, and fear gripped her. In hindsight, she'd realize that she should have done something. She should have told someone. She should have acted on her suspicions and been more cautious. But Tad had never done anything like that before. And if she told her mother, the woman was sure to beat her. So she remained silent, never giving voice to her fears.

Two days later, it was a school holiday. Maria's mother went to work, and Maria was left at home alone. Later, she'd realize she should have gone to the library, should have gone anywhere, just so she wouldn't be home alone after what had happened on Saturday. But she had suppressed her fears, calling herself paranoid, again. Reminding herself that no one would ever think that way about her, the way she thought she saw in Tad's eyes.

When the knock came at the door, Maria reminded herself of all those things again, and opened the door for Tad with a smile.

Years later, when she was trained by SHIELD she would understand that Tad had planned it down to the moment. It wasn't an impulse that brought him to the apartment on a day when the school was closed but businesses weren't. It wasn't dumb luck on Maria's part that it was still freezing weather and everyone had their storm windows shut tight. It wasn't chance that he chose a time of day when nearly everyone, except old, nearly-deaf Mrs. Gray, would be out. Even if Maria had screamed, even if she'd thought to fight, no one would have heard her.

And why didn't she fight? That question would also haunt her until she decided to take control of her life, and one evening, after her karate class, her sensei, the one who turned out to be former SHIELD, took Maria and a few other students out and shared his wisdom on how people become victimized. How susceptible the mind is to subtlety and deception, and how one had to strengthen that as much as one had to strengthen the body and the reflexes.

But at fifteen, the damage was done. And, as Tad slipped out the door and into the shadows from which he'd apparently come, Maria was left with blood stained sheets and a shaking in her body that kept her vomiting until she dry heaved. She stepped into the shower and scrubbed her skin until it was raw, trying to rid herself of the feel of him. The horrible pain between her legs she could do nothing about. He'd not been gentle.

The next few months were still a fog to Maria even after she grew up and became one of the most feared people in SHIELD. Tad had disappeared. Maria's mother drank more and more and returned to taking her anger out on Maria. It wasn't until school was out and Maria had nothing else to drown her thoughts in that she realized she had missed several cycles. As a near crippling fear came over her, Maria took a bus to the other side of the city to find a store where she could safely buy a pregnancy test and no one she knew would see her.

She wasn't surprised at the results. But she was surprised at her feelings. While she knew she didn't want the child, she found herself opening the phone book to 'adoption.' It wasn't the child's fault, she reasoned. Maybe it was because she'd spent a lifetime listening to her mother blame her for everything, that she felt that she couldn't punish her child like her mother had. She was never entirely sure.

In the end, it didn't matter in the least. In the end, she never got to call any of the adoption agencies she'd spent so much time researching over the next few months. Because, in the end, her mother took even that from her.

Maria was nearly six months pregnant when her mother walked into the apartment and finally noticed a slight bump on her daughter's skinny frame. With no preamble, no angry outburst, her mother picked up a chair and brought it slamming down on Maria's head and back. Maria hit the ground dazed and before she could pick herself up, her mother began to kick her in the abdomen, screaming at her that she wasn't going to be a grandmother at her age, that she wasn't going to feed Maria's bastard child with her hard earned money.

But for once, her mother's blinding anger worked in Maria's favor. The woman had forgotten to shut the door. A neighbor had heard the commotion and when he saw Maria's mother beating and kicking her he called the police.

Maria only vaguely remembered them pulling her mother off of her ten minutes later and the shocked voices of the EMT's as they saw the physical damage her mother had done. She tried to communicate to them about her baby, but her mother's screaming fortunately did that for her. By the time she arrived at the emergency room, there was a team prepped to take her into surgery to try to save her and the child. There was a mask on her face, she breathed once, and everything went mercifully black.

When Maria came to, the only thing she was aware of was the beeping of a monitor. She couldn't open her eyes. She tried to move but all she could manage was a groan. She heard movement nearby then a woman's voice talking, but it was garbled and Maria thought she might have shook her head to show she couldn't understand. Then she stopped trying and gave herself over to the darkness again.

The next time she woke, her eyes opened right away and she looked around. The lights were low, and across from the foot of her bed a woman in a nurses uniform sat at a desk. Maria made a sound to get her attention. The woman turned immediately and came to her. She asked how Maria felt, but all Maria could say was, "Baby."

The sad look in the nurse's eyes was all the confirmation needed. Maria didn't know why she cried or why it hurt so bad. She'd never intended to keep the child as her own. The woman took Maria's hand in hers and held it until Maria cried herself out and succumbed to sleep once more.

When she opened her eyes, there was a doctor in the room speaking to another woman that Maria recognized simply by the way she stood and the expression on her face: A social worker. She wanted to groan. She couldn't understand why she had to go back into foster care. Did they want to make sure she made a full recovery before they gave her back to her mother?

The doctor turned to her with a kind smile when he saw that she was awake. The list of her physical problems washed over her with no comprehension or care on her part. Her baby was dead and her life was about to repeat its cycle of abuse, foster care, and return. She wondered briefly if the song title "Suicide is Painless" was really true. But she quickly nixed that idea. She recalled her mother's repeated rants about how she should have killed Maria when she had a chance and she'd be damned if she ever gave that woman what she wanted.

"This is Mrs. Garner, from social services," the doctor finally introduced her. "She wants to talk with you about funeral arrangements, if you're up to it."

"Funeral arrangements?" Maria rasped.

"For your daughter," Mrs. Garner told her.

It was a girl, Maria thought. She'd had a baby girl. She was surprised this time when she didn't cry. Now that she knew what the baby had been, she thought it would have made it worse. But right now she felt only resignation at her return to the system and her ultimate return to her mother.

"First," Mrs. Garner began, as Maria listened numbly. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Mrs. Garner seemed to be waiting for some sort of reply for which Maria was untrained so she stared silently at the social worker who finally continued.

"The police will come by later to question you and let you know the status of your mother's case," Mrs. Garner said, and again waited for a reply that would never come.

"The state covers expenses for situations like yours," she said, and Maria wanted to say that she knew, she'd been in and out of the system her entire life.

"I know you haven't had time to think about it properly but I wanted to let you know your options," Mrs. Garner informed her.

Maria felt her brow furrow in confusion.

"Options?" she asked, almost involuntarily.

She'd never had options before. It was out of the hospital, into the county home, placed in the foster home, returned to her mother. She'd been doing it since she was two, had something changed?

"Well," the social worker continued. "You can either chose a casket burial or cremation."

Maria looked at her in confusion for a moment, then the doctor's earlier words finally registered. The social worker was talking to her about her daughter's funeral.

"Casket," Maria said.

Scientifically, she knew it shouldn't make a difference, but psychologically she didn't want any further damage done to her daughter's body.

The woman nodded, then lifted a folder Maria hadn't noticed earlier. She wrote something on a page inside. Then she returned her attention to Maria, who discovered she no longer feared this woman, but oddly saw her as a friend. Mrs. Garner wanted to give Maria's daughter a proper burial, she wanted to talk to her about her baby. Maria hadn't talked to anyone since she'd learned the news. She smiled slightly at the social worker.

"Had you chosen a name yet?" Mrs. Garner asked, and Maria felt tears prick her eyes.

Mrs. Garner stretched her hand over the railing and took Maria's. She waited for Maria to gain control of her emotions.

Maria finally shook her head, then told the woman how she'd planned to give the baby up for adoption. The woman smiled broadly at her.

"I was adopted," she told Maria. "I think your daughter would have been very happy. I know I am."

They talked for a while about Mrs. Garner's mother who had been 17 and had given her up to a family who couldn't have children. Mrs. Garner told Maria that was why she'd gone into social work, because she wanted other children to have the opportunity she'd had. Maria smiled at her and wondered why this was the longest personal conversation she'd ever had with a social worker. It made the woman seem so much more human than any of the others, they'd always just treated her like she was a job for them to get completed before they moved on to the next child.

Mrs. Garner asked her if she might like to see a baby name book and read for while before she chose a name. But Maria shook her head as a name she liked came to mind.

"Melissa," she told her.

There wasn't really much to the planning. Maria didn't want anything but the first name and date on the marker, and a white casket. When they were done, Mrs. Garner asked Maria if she wanted to see Melissa. Maria hesitated for a moment. She'd seen pictures of stillborn babies in books she'd read in the library, but she thought she'd feel that she'd missed something if she didn't see her before the burial, so she nodded at Mrs. Garner who said she'd go make the arrangements.

In the silence that followed, Maria closed her eyes and tried to rest. Her body was beginning to ache. She recalled the doctor's explanation now that her mind was focused on her physical pain. Her emergency c-section that had to be traditional, top to bottom, because they had wanted to give the baby more of a chance. The internal bleeding she'd suffered. He'd told her that for a while they thought they might have had to perform a hysterectomy because the damage was so great.

Fortunately, the nurse came to change her morphine bag among other things. She told Maria that the police had arrived and wanted to ask her some questions. She nodded to let her know that was OK.

When the officers came in they were friendly and introduced themselves. They asked her to tell them what happened, but Maria's fear of what her mother would do to her when she was returned kept her from saying anything.

Finally, the male officer told her that based on the testimony of her neighbor and the loss of her baby that her mother was going to go to prison. The DA had already brought charges of involuntary manslaughter and child abuse. But they felt that Maria's testimony would get her mother more years behind bars because they could charge her with voluntary manslaughter.

Maria shook her head, insisting she didn't remember anything. She'd been promised better in the past, and it had never happened. She couldn't risk her mother knowing she had testified against her, not now that Maria knew her mother was, indeed, capable of murder.

Before the officers left, Mrs. Garner returned with a nurse who was holding Melissa in her hands.

For a moment it seemed to Maria as if the whole world froze. She stared at the tiny white cloth as her throat constricted with emotion. Another nurse followed in and broke Maria out of her trance as she walked over and had Mrs. Garner help prop Maria up so she could hold and see her daughter.

Finally, Maria was physically, if not emotionally, ready, and the nurse handed her the baby. Melissa was so small Maria could have held her in her hands, instead, she almost instinctively cradled her. She tried to look past the tone and color of her skin and wondered what she would have looked like, if only...Maria pulled the blanket away and found someone had dressed her in a pretty pink dress that looked as if it would have fit a small baby doll. Pulling the blanket away more, Maria looked at the tiny fingers and toes. Melissa was perfect.

Maria had always known somewhere deep inside that her mother was evil, that anyone with an ounce of humanity would never do the things the woman had done. But now that she held her own child in her arms and her mind drifted over the previous fifteen years, she could no longer justify protecting herself by protecting her mother. Whatever happened to her would happen, she might have no way of preventing her mother from coming after her, but for her own daughter she would have justice.

After years of silence, Maria began to speak. She gave them everything she'd ever known of her mother, acquaintances, addresses, criminal activities. Maria remembered everything with the clarity of it happening yesterday. As she looked at Melissa, she was only vaguely aware that the two officers had sat down and were taking notes, that Mrs. Garner had walked over and put a hand on her shoulder, and that the two nurses stood off to the side shedding silent tears.

When she finished her confession, Maria felt free. It no longer mattered to her if the social workers sent her back to her mother. She didn't care if she had another beating. All that mattered to her was that she had tried to get justice for her own child.

* * *

Thirty-five year old Maria Hill parked her car to the side of the road inside the memorial park. It was odd to be back again. She normally visited only once a year, in September. This year had certainly been a unique year. In July she had brought Steve.

Maria smiled and shook her head at the thought of him. Steve, surely an angel who'd fallen down from heaven to her, if she believed such things. And when she visited Melissa she liked to pretend she believed.

Bringing him here had been life changing for her so much so that she wondered why she hadn't just done it early on in their relationship, and saved herself all the heartache she'd put them through this year.

Shaking the memory from her head and reminding herself she did have a time deadline, she reached to the seat beside her and picked up the flowers and the plastic keys setting there. She laughed as the keys rattled together, remembering all the toys Steve brought to Melissa each day they had visited her during the previous month. It had been a good thing they had to get back to work, she'd told him, or else the cemetery would have more toys than the toy store.

When she shut the door of the car, it sounded as loud as a gunshot in the quiet space, just as it usually did, but Maria didn't feel the heaviness of all her visits she'd made the past twenty years, all the visits before she'd brought Steve.

Setting out across the lawn, she felt the breeze that was making a poor attempt to break the August Chicago heat. She'd never really liked it here. She hated Chicago and everything it reminded her of, until last month. Maria shook her head again. Even Fury had given her what was tantamount to a lecture about officer efficacy and having proper support and back-up (translation: You were a better commander with Steve than without him.).

As Maria approached the gravesite she could see the toys Steve had left the previous month. But the fact that they were still there was not what surprised her most. At the top of the grave marker, in the spot where Maria used to sit when she visited, was a pink granite bench. It's curved legs elegant, and chiseled in the side of the bench was "Melissa, Beloved Daughter." As she drew closer she smiled, though her throat had tightened and tears had formed in her eyes. Etched on the seat on the left were small flowers, not unlike the ones Maria brought each visit, and on the right was a teddy bear, obviously signifying Steve's gifts to her daughter.

She walked over and sat down, running her hand across the smooth granite. Maria leaned down and lay the flowers and the toy keys on the grave, then she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Speed dial 1, she had never actually removed it, she listened as the phone rang and smiled when she heard Steve's voice at the other end.

"Hey, beautiful," he said, his voice soothing the rough parts of her soul.

How had she ever denied that?

"Hiya, soldier," she smiled into the phone. "You still in Belgium?"

"Yeah," he said. "PR's a pain. I'm so tired of it. I'm almost to the point of wishing for another alien invasion."

Maria laughed with him.

"How's DC?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she replied. "I had to go to Chicago."

There was silence at the other end before Steve spoke.

"I, uh, thought you weren't going back until September," Maria smiled at the concern she heard in Steve's voice.

"Yeah, well, Sitwell, came down with the flu and I got tapped," Maria explained.

"Oh," was all Steve said.

Then he suddenly rushed on.

"You know, I can leave right now and meet you there," he said.

"It's OK," Maria assured him. "I've already been here over 24 hrs and I'm heading home soon."

"You've," Steve started, but stopped himself.

Maria heard him take a deep breath.

"Are you OK with it?" he asked.

"Of course," she said.

"Not that," he continued quickly, and Maria stifled a laugh at his next words that came out in an even faster rush.

Steve was too sweet when he was nervous.

"I know you're OK with visiting Melissa on your own, you're a strong woman and I have no doubt you don't need me to be with you every time you see her," he probably would have rambled on another five minutes if Maria hadn't stopped him.

"Steve," she interrupted. "I was talking about the bench. It's fine."

She paused as her emotions tried to take over and render her speechless.

"It's perfect," she whispered.

"I wanted to surprise you in September," he said, quietly.

"Well, you surprised me in August," she told him.

Then she added, "You'll have to come up with something else for September."

They were quiet for another minute as both, Maria was sure, needed to regain control.

"I never knew I could love someone so much who I'd never met," Steve finally said, his voice tight with emotion.

Maria let his words sink into her as deeply as she could and wondered again at this man, so far out of time, yet, he fit perfectly into hers.

Who would you be?  
What would you look like,  
When you looked at me for the very first time?  
Today could have been the next day of the rest of your life.

Not a day goes by,  
That I don't think of you,  
I'm always asking why this crazy world had to lose,  
Such a ray of light we never knew

_Gone Too Soon~~Daughtry_

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you lived. Maria's story was almost 100% made up by me, but I have found it difficult not to put some of my own experiences in as well. The main one being the fear Maria had about telling her mom she thought something was off with Tad. My siblings and I never told our parents when other people would abuse us because we assumed we'd be punished for it. This is why it's so important to keep communication open between yourself and your child (if/when you have one). They need to be able to trust their parents implicitly.
> 
> The next chapter will be a hard one as well, though not nearly as hard as this. It might take me a bit to finish up because my kids are done with school and next week we'll be having a "free" week, which means we won't be home much, running around trying to have fun before they start summer school and some other summer programs. In short, I might not be able to post next Friday, but I will try.
> 
> I also have another, lighter one-shot to publish maybe Sunday or Monday. Have a great weekend.


	4. A Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: OK, I'm done with this chapter. Hooray. I hope it's good. I tried to edit better than I think I've been doing lately. Anyway, the first part is going to be super familiar to you. If it isn't, go back and watch TFA again. I did, about 10 times. The sacrifices I make for my readers. ;D More of a note at the bottom. I hate to give anything away. :)
> 
> Please, R&R.

 

Twenty-three-year-old Steve Rogers' life might be summed up by those looking on as a series of sad or pathetic attempts to make something worthwhile out of too little material. But to Steve, it was only a matter of time until he found that one thing he was to do to fight for his country. There were many men like him during the war, men who physically didn't fit the roll of soldier and often felt like outsiders for it. They watched their friends go off to war, and felt envious of the attention of the ladies and the approval of society. Steve was not one like that. Those thoughts, in fact, had never occurred to him. Steve wanted to serve because it didn't sit well with him that others were dying for freedom while he dwelt in the safety of his own home.

He was one of the truly simple men in the world. Not simple in mind, but simple in that what he was, he was. There was nothing deceptive or manipulative in his nature. He said what he thought, lived how he believed, and expected others to do the same. He had no tolerance for lies or for those who made a life out of telling them. So it was an uncomfortable paradox that he had resorted to the deception involved in giving false information to military doctors who inevitably stamped 4F on all his attempts. But Steve continued, undaunted by his numerous failures. At some point the military had to find a need for him to fight somewhere.

Despite his artistic and imaginative nature, and all the Jules Verne books he'd enjoyed growing up, Steve would never have guessed at how that need would manifest itself.

"Just wait here," the doctor told him, as Steve buttoned his cuffs.

He stared after the man, feeling a sudden sense of foreboding. Usually they just stamped his paper and sent him on his way. This was certainly unusual.

Glancing behind him, he read the sign on the wall: "It is illegal to falsify your enlistment information." Steve's heart leaped to his throat. He had to get out before the doctor returned. He slid off the table and walked over to the chair next to his shoes He sat, and as he pulled his shoes onto his feet, an MP opened the curtains and stepped into the examining room. Steve's heart began to pound hard against his chest, but before he had time to speculate what would happen to him, another man pushed open the curtains and walked in.

"Thank you," he said to the MP, and the soldier left, closing the curtains behind himself as he did.

Steve looked in surprise at the newcomer, not sure what to think. He had expected someone in uniform to arrest him, but this man wore a typical three piece suit and tie.

"So," the man started, and pulled a file from behind his back. "You vant to go overseas. Kill some Nazis."

The question jolted Steve from his worry. He hadn't expected that. And he certainly hadn't expected someone whose accent sounded so German.

"Excuse me?" Steve said.

The man shut the folder.

"Dr. Abraham Erskine," he introduced himself as he walked toward Steve and held out his hand. "I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve."

Steve stood to accept the outstretched hand. No, this wasn't what he'd expected, at all.

"Steve Rogers," he said.

Dr. Erskine acknowledged him with a nod, then walked over to the exam table. As the doctor re-opened the file, Steve couldn't resist asking him his now burning question.

"Where're you from?"

"Queens," the man answered, adjusting his glasses. "73rd Street and Eutopia Parkway."

He paused briefly.

"Before that, Germany," he continued, waving his hand as if it was of no consequence.

Steve wasn't sure what to think or say. He hadn't expected to meet a German when he'd walked into the recruitment station this evening.

"Zis troubles you?" Dr. Erskine asked in response to Steve's silence.

Steve shook his head, though he wasn't entirely sure. But the doctor's next question pushed aside any concerns Steve had about the man's origins.

"Vare are you from, Mr. Rogers?" he asked, and Steve felt his pulse quicken as he tried to stamp down his nerves.

Dr. Erskine listed the various addresses Steve had used so far in his attempt to join the military. He felt his concern growing again. He didn't want to end up in prison over this.

"That might not be the right file," he interrupted Dr. Erskine.

"It's not zee exams I am interested in," Dr. Erskine informed him. "It's zee five tries."

Steve was confused. He hadn't realized there was a difference.

Dr. Erskine closed the file again and continued.

"But you didn't answer my question," he reminded Steve. "Do you vant to kill Nazis?"

Steve still thought the question was strange but finally asked, "Is this a test?"

Dr. Erskine paused, then answered, "Yes."

Steve thought for a moment before answering.

"I don't want to kill anyone," he said, honestly. "I don't like bullies, I don't care where they're from."

"Well, zare are already so many big men fighting zis war," Dr. Erskine said. "Maybe what we need now is a little guy."

As Steve listened he wondered if the man wasn't mocking him and he tried to think of a rebuttal, but Dr. Erskine's next words put that out of his mind.

"I can offer you a chance," the doctor said. "Only a chance."

Steve grabbed up his coat and followed Dr. Erskine out of the room.

"I'll take it," he said, eagerly.

"Good, so vare is zee little guy from, actually?" Dr. Erskine asked.

"Brooklyn," Steve told him.

Dr. Erskine stamped the page in the file he'd been carrying, then handed it to Steve.

"Congratulations, soldier."

Steve opened the file and stared at the 1A stamp, his feelings a mixture of relief, satisfaction, and excitement.

The next few weeks of training were almost a blur, an exhausting blur. While Steve gladly jumped out of bed before revelry, he was just as glad when his head hit the pillow, body depleted, and he succumbed immediately to sleep each night. Everything was a test, or so it seemed. He wondered if some of the other men weren't even part of the test. Hodge was a particular problem to him. He was so much like all the other bullies he'd known in his life, but Steve controlled himself and focused on the training.

The "chance" didn't turn out the way Steve had envisioned and for many months he was more bewildered than anything else. Selling war bonds wasn't exactly what he thought he'd be doing to help the war effort. For the first time in his life, he settled into defeat and tried, without success, to find a way to live there comfortably. He recalled his mother always trying to find the best in any situation, but there was no 'best' in this, just a 'being' that he didn't know how to be.

If Steve had had time after the war, he would have looked back and realized that the fates had intervened in his favor again and landed him in Europe, in the midst of Bucky's regiment. It was fate that brought Peggy to him that rainy day when he'd all but given up on ever really helping in the war. But it was still he who had to see the chance and take it himself. There were orders to be followed, rules to be obeyed, but he had to be the one to decide to break them to finally achieve what Dr. Erskine knew he was meant to do.

At first it really was glorious. His successes were legendary. They didn't go to his head as they would so many men; they drove him on. The horrors of war were ever present in his mind, particularly that of the HYDRA weapons. But he and his men seemed almost unstoppable, and maybe, Steve thought as he sat at the table in the bombed out club, drinking for a drunkenness that could never be achieved, he had begun to think of them as invincible. He thought they'd all live forever.

And, later, listening to Peggy's voice over the radio as he drove the plane toward the ice, he wondered if he had taken all the chances he should have. Maybe there was one he was supposed to take that had nothing to do with super soldier serum or success in battle. But now he was sure he'd never know, and now it was one of the only regrets he had. One of the few things that if he had a chance to do it over, he'd change.

* * *

Twenty-three-year-old Maria Hill's life might be summed up by those looking on as perfect, or a fairy tale come true. After years of abuse, she appeared to have finally broken free from her past, earning herself admittance into Georgetown University as well as wrangling several scholarships to help defray the costs. She was an excellent student, earning top marks each semester, even with a double major of American History and Astrophysics, plus a minor in French. She was a dedicated employee, having worked her way into a management position at Cedric's Burgers in less than a year after her hire. To the outside world, Maria Hill looked like she had it all together.

But inside the bathroom of the apartment she shared with her boyfriend, Brady O'Brien, captain of the rowing team, Maria kept a stash of stage quality skin tone make up. She never knew when she'd need it after one of Brady's rages. She also had an usually high number of turtleneck and high neck shirts and sweaters, as well as an abundance of scarves and jewelry that could hide the bruises.

Brady had never asked about her scars. She had been afraid he might, but they hadn't seemed to interest him. At the time, Maria was relieved. It was embarrassing enough to be at school with people whose parents were millionaire bankers, entertainers, or politicians, and have to admit she'd been a foster child. Today, she wondered, if the scars, and her history, weren't why Brady kept her around.

Staring into the mirror and doing her best not to flinch as she tried to cover the bruise on her neck, she started to accept what had only been dawning on her recently. She had allowed herself to become a victim. She'd never really given her status, or her feelings about it, a lot of thought, but after the previous night she wondered if she shouldn't.

_"You're just the sort of person no one would miss," he'd said._

_His hand was wrapped around her neck as he thrust himself inside her. He liked it rough, he'd told her, and if she wanted to stay with him, she'd get used to it._

Maria looked at the bruise on her neck, formed almost perfectly in the shape of a hand. She'd blacked out as she laid beneath him and woke alone, still naked on the hardwood floor where she'd been the last she could remember.

She finished the makeup and dressed for work. She had to be in by 10 to help manage the lunch rush, and she was grateful her shift didn't start earlier. Her body was still tender and Maria tried not to imagine what Brady had done to her after she'd passed out. It was Saturday and after his morning workout with the team, he'd be going up to visit his family at their Maryland estate. They'd been dating almost a year and she still had never been invited to a family gathering.

The lunch rush was, as usual, a rush. By the end of it, Maria was depleted. The morning manager asked if she wasn't sick, but Maria said she'd just been up too late studying. He didn't look too sure, but he left her since the evening manager would be arriving in another two hours and Maria assured him she could work.

She'd given the cashier her lunch break and was standing at the register when Earl Angstrum walked in. He was a teacher from the karate studio across the street and was a regular on Saturday's. Maria knew his order by heart and had the food started before he reached her. He smiled at her, as usual, but then his smile faltered. His gaze had drifted to her neck and Maria reached to pull up her collar. She'd forgotten to reapply the makeup and the bruise must show by now. But, like most people over the course of her life, he turned his gaze away and said nothing. Maria was relieved.

At 4:30 she slid her time card and left to catch the train. She was surprised when she saw Mr. Angstrum at the corner. She'd have thought he'd have left for home after his lunch.

As she greeted him, he handed her his card.

"I know you're not the type to take handouts, but if money's an issue, we can work something out," he told her.

Maria furrowed her brow in confusion. She didn't understand why he'd feel compelled to make this offer. She'd been polite to him but she'd never mentioned any sort of interest in karate. Then his gaze drifted back to her neck. The bruise was now covered with appropriate make up and he gave her a knowing look as he returned his eyes to hers. Then he turned and crossed the street in the opposite direction of the way she was headed.

It would be another two months before Maria decided she had to do something.

Brady had tried to force her to binge drink with some of his buddies, but she had told him 'no.' She didn't like the direction that was heading. He politely told his friends they'd have to leave as Maria went into the bedroom to get away from them.

When he walked into the room Maria saw he'd removed his belt, the look in his eyes told Maria he was out for blood. He advanced on her quickly and Maria ducked away as he brought the belt down across he arm and back. Maria lost count of the times he hit her, but she could barely stand when he was done.

He dragged her across the room and used the belt to bind her wrists to the bedpost at the foot of the bed on the floor. Then he kicked her, presumably for good measure, and left the room. Relieved at the end of the ordeal, Maria tried to pull her hands out of the belt, but froze when she heard him, not leave the apartment, but return to the bedroom. In his hands was a dish towel which he shoved into her mouth. Around that he wrapped another towel and tied it around the back of her head. Then he picked up a knife which he'd apparently brought from the kitchen as well. For a heartbeat Maria thought this was it. This was how she was going to die.

Then, just as it had ten years earlier, something inside her snapped. She kicked up her leg at his hand and the knife went flying across the room. When he went to retrieve it Maria contorted her body to get her feet under the bed and lift it so she could hopefully slide the binding off the leg. It worked and she propelled herself off the end of the bed and slid along the wood floor, knocking his feet out from under him. Quickly hopping to her own feet she tried to stomp on him hard enough that he'd be too incapacitated to follow her when she ran.

He grabbed her leg and Maria fell hard onto the floor. He scrambled to pull himself over her and pin her extremities to the floor.

"Finally like it as rough as me, huh?" he said with a sneer.

He moved his head close to hers perhaps to kiss her, and Maria slammed her head into his nose. She heard, as well as felt, it crunch and he rolled over, screaming as he clutched his nose that was spurting blood all over his hands and the floor.

Maria reached up and pulled the gag from around her face, then tried, again, to take her hands out of the belt. She didn't have time to think about the pain in her head because, by then, he'd recovered somewhat and was trying to stand up. He was pulling himself up using the foot board of the bed. Maria knew she couldn't let him get up again so she ran up quickly behind him and kicked the back of one of his knees. It didn't seem to do much, he just turned around and started to push himself to his feet again. Maria kicked her foot up one more time and made contact with the side of his head. There was a satisfying crack, then he fell back and his head hit the foot board. As he crumbled to the ground Maria wondered if she hadn't killed him, but she was too afraid to check so she grabbed her purse and ran from the apartment, her hands still tight inside the belt.

It was dark on the street and Maria ran until she reached the park four blocks away. There were bushes she could hide in there in case he came after her. Once she made it, she collapsed beneath a clump of them and tried to steady her heart and her breathing. If he came after her, he'd hear her.

After five minutes Maria hoped he was not going to follow. She lay in the dirt and leaves and spider webs and wondered what she should do. She didn't have one of those cellphones, not that she had anyone she could call. She lay still for a long time, not knowing what to do or where to go. Brady was from a prominent family, no one would ever believe her when she told them what he did, so the police were out. She thought about calling her boss, but what could he do? He'd want to call the police himself.

Slowly her mind stopped its spinning so she could focus. She needed money. She needed to find a place to stay, a motel. Using a branch of the bush she tugged at the belt until, scratched and bleeding, her hands pulled free. She rolled out from under the bushes, but stayed behind their cover so she couldn't be seen from the street.

She ran to the closest phone booth she knew and pulled her wallet out with shaking hands. There was only one person she thought she could call right now. She pulled out some change and sighed, on the verge of tears, as it dropped to the ground, the tremors had begun to spread out from her hands to the rest of her body and she was barely holding herself erect.

She picked up the coins and dropped a quarter into the slot as she lifted the handset. Then she pulled out the card Earl Angstrum had given her months earlier, she had noted at the time that he had put his home number on the back. Maria wasn't an idiot, she knew he had to be aware of what was going on. She only hoped now that he could help her.

The phone rang several times and Maria began to wonder if he was home, finally a voice came on the line.

"Hello?" the man's voice sounded groggy, she must have woken him.

"Mr. Angstrum?" Maria said, unable to keep her voice from quivering.

"Miss Hill, where are you?" he asked, all trace of tiredness gone from his voice.

Maria didn't have the presence of mind to wonder how he knew it was her. She gave him her location.

"OK, I want you to find a building, a large trashcan, anything to hide behind," he told her and she nodded, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"I'll be driving a tan Toyota Camry," he continued, then gave her the license plate so she could verify it when he arrived. "I'll be there in 25 minutes. Not a minute earlier."

"OK," she replied weakly, then hung up and walked to the side of the building nearest to her and sank down into the shadows. She checked her watch incessantly as she fought the fear and paranoia each passing car before the 25 minute mark brought.

Finally a car pulled up to the curb and stopped with its rear bumper far enough up from the alley she was in that she could make out the numbers on the license plate from the cover of darkness. It was Angstrum's car. Maria breathed a sigh of relief then made her way quickly to the passenger door before she could be seen.

"I'm sorry," she started to say as she got in.

"No need to apologize," he said. "Do you need a hospital?"

Maria shook her head quickly.

"I can't," she told him.

"If it's money," he began, but Maria cut him off.

"I can't report this," she said.

"Why not?"

"His family's too powerful," she said.

Mr. Angstrum's face turned grim and he acknowledged with a nod of his head and said no more, as if that fact settled the matter.

They drove for a while, until Maria saw the sign for Arlington, VA.

"You live in Arlington?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"I have friends here," he said. "They can keep you safe, until I can assess the situation."

"He might be dead," Maria suddenly blurted out.

"Your boyfriend?"

Maria nodded.

"What did you hit him with?"

"My foot," she told him. "I kicked him in the head, then he fell back and hit the foot board. He didn't move after that."

Mr. Angstrum simply nodded again.

As they drove on, Maria felt herself calming and started to take in the street names. As they passed out of the business sections and entered more residential, the signs became smaller corner posts, and not well lit at all, and Maria had to strain to see each one. Finally they pulled up to a white cape cod with a picket fence on a street called Maplewood Drive. The house was dark, but there was a car in the driveway. She turned back to Mr. Angstrum.

"You'll be safe here," he told her. "Don't worry."

Then he glanced around out the windows and up and down the street before he got out. She opened her door and followed him to the gate. It swung open silently and Maria walked up the path to the darkened front door.

He rang the bell and in less than a minute, though it seemed an eternity to Maria who now feared being out in the open like this, the porch light came on, another moment, during which she supposed the homeowner was looking through the peephole, and the door opened revealing a man, probably in his 50s, judging by the streaks of grey in his hair and the few wrinkles around his face, wearing striped tan pajamas and a blue robe.

"Earl?" the man asked, his surprise evident.

Without invitation, Mr. Angstrum ushered Maria into the foyer and closed the door quickly behind him.

"What's wrong?" the man in the pajamas asked, straightening up, now alert.

"Long story," Angstrum said. "I need a safe place for her."

He jerked his head in Maria's direction and the man in pajamas turned his gaze to her. He ran his eyes quickly over her and Maria, for the first time, wondered just how much of a mess she looked.

"And I need to use your phone," he continued.

The man in pajamas smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Still haven't joined the tech age?" he said, and led them to the kitchen.

While Mr. Angstrum placed his call, Maria quickly took in the room. It was open to the small family room and looked to be recently remodeled; the appliances were all late model. The rooms were a bit cluttered, but sparkling clean. The thing she noticed most, though, was just how friendly the room was. She'd never been in a house that felt physically welcoming.

The man in pajamas excused himself saying he'd be back in a moment, and returned upstairs. Mr. Angstrum finally got a hold of whomever he needed to call.

"I need a cleanup at," he turned to Maria. "What's your address?"

Maria stared at him in surprise for a moment, then gave it to him.

He repeated it into the phone then waited.

"No," he said. "I'm not sure if it's a body or a live one, either way it needs to be dealt with."

Maria swallowed. She knew he was talking about Brady.

"Yeah," he said. "Let me know when you're finished."

He hung up the phone as the man in pajamas returned, this time with a slender woman around his age. She was the same height as Maria, and probably as thin.

"Oh, Lee, you're right," the woman said, obviously in response to something he'd told her upstairs.

Mr. Angstrum cleared his throat before making the introductions.

"Mr. and Mrs. Stetson, this is Maria Hill," he said. "Miss Hill, please meet Lee and Amanda Stetson."

She smiled dutifully and took each hand in turn.

"Miss Hill is in somewhat of a situation," Mr. Angstrum informed the couple.

"I can see that," replied Mrs. Stetson, her face very serious.

"You were the nearest people I could think of that no one would be able to trace back to me or her," he said.

"How serious is this?" Mr. Stetson looked concerned, and Maria couldn't say as she blamed him.

"Not certain," Mr. Angstrum informed him. "Domestic, mostly."

"Still," Mr. Stetson started.

"Lee," Amanda broke in. "We can't just turn her out."

"Amanda," Mr. Steston drew out her name, and Mrs. Stetson responded with a roll of her eyes.

She caught a smile on Mr. Angstrum's face out of the corner of her eye and relaxed slightly.

"Lee," his wife began to admonish gently, ticking off her fingers as she made a list. "KGB, poisonous snakes, Hungarian defectors, and you at your most charming. This house has seen far more dangerous and we've lived to tell it."

Turning to Maria she said, "I think a hot bath is in order, why don't you come with me?"

Maria looked at Mr. Angstrum, whose nod eased her concerns.

"You two work out the technical details," Mrs. Stetson said, as she led Maria out the room and up the stairs.

Behind them Maria heard Mr. Angstrum say, louder than necessary, "Stetson, you thinking of kicking off anytime soon? Cause every time I see that wife of yours."

"I can hear you, Earl," Mrs. Stetson called loud enough for him to hear in return. "Do try to keep it down, there's school in the morning."

Maria followed Mrs. Stetson to the upstairs bathroom. As the woman started the bath for Maria she turned and gave her a searching look.

"Lavender," she finally said after a moment.

Maria wasn't sure what she meant, but Mrs. Stetson didn't explain herself as she reached into a cabinet and pulled out a jar of what looked like bath salts. She smiled at Maria who just stared at her in surprise. She poured a small amount into the water then returned the jar to the cabinet. When she turned around she had a towel and washcloth in her hands and gave them to Maria, then smiled kindly and exited the bath.

Maria stared at the closed door for a moment before reaching over to click the lock shut. She set the towel down on the sink and reached to turn off the water. Then she glanced up in the mirror. She would have been horrified by her appearance if her eyes didn't tell a worse tale. Despite feeling slightly more relaxed she couldn't deny the fear that was in them. She shouldn't have to be afraid anymore. Her mother was in prison. Her father as well. How had she let herself fall back into this?

She didn't understand, then, that she'd had no frame of reference for what was a healthy relationship. She had no idea that she didn't have to tolerate a "little" abuse for the sake of keeping a relationship together. And she really didn't know that if someone truly loved her, they would never have abused her in the first place. It would take another fifteen years, and a man out of time, to finally teach her what most people grow up knowing. But for now, she stripped her filthy clothes off, surprised at the blood she saw there, then she stepped into the hot bath, and tried to let the tension in her body seep out with the dirt and grime.

There was a light tapping on the door and Mrs. Stetson spoke.

"I left some night clothes for you on this table right outside the door," she said. "Do you need anything else?"

"Maybe a hairdryer?" Maria responded.

"The hair dryer is under the sink," then continued somewhat rapidly. "There's a new toothbrush with the toothpaste in the drawer to the right of the sink, I hope you don't mind cinnamon, it's my son's, and you're welcome to use the brush or comb in the other drawer."

When she had stopped for a few moments Maria thought she must be done and called out her thanks.

"OK, then," Mrs. Stetson spoke again. "I'll just go down and make some tea and see what the guys are working out. Come downstairs when you're finished. I'm sure we will want to speak with you."

Though she was sure Mrs. Stetson didn't mean it that way, the closing statement sounded ominous to Maria. Because, now that she'd had a moment to stop and think, she focused on Mrs. Stetson's earlier statement and couldn't understand, nor was she sure she wanted to know why the KGB, poisonous snakes, and Hungarian defectors had been in the house. She wasn't sure what Mr. Stetson at his "most charming" meant but tacking it on to the end of that list didn't leave Maria with the most comforting feelings.

She bathed as quickly as she could. It was late, and Mrs. Stetson had mentioned "school in the morning" and a "son" so Maria didn't want to keep the Stetsons up all night. She toweled off on the bath mat as the water drained, and cringed when she looked back and saw the ring she'd left there. She wondered if she should take the time to clean it. Reaching out into the hallway she grabbed up the pink pajamas and robe, which were obviously Mrs. Stetson's, and pulled them on, then she dried up her hair quickly, letting it fall flat against her neck. She reached in and pulled out the new toothbrush and found she sort of liked cinnamon flavor toothpaste after all. Then she took several calming breaths and headed back to the friendly kitchen.

Several months later found Maria living in the mother-in-law apartment over the garage the Stetson's had built for Mrs. Stetson's mother when they'd married. Her mother, Mrs. West, having been gracious and moving back into her old room inside the house until Maria could find a place to settle.

She mostly kept to herself, not wanting to cause any trouble by inferring herself into the Stetson's family life. Mrs. Stetson was forever trying to get her "out of her shell." And sometimes Maria felt bad for resisting her kindnesses but she had the strange feeling that the older woman understood Maria's position and never pushed too hard.

Today, Maria glanced quickly in the small bathroom mirror before opening the door to a man Mr. Angstrum said wanted to talk to her about a job after her imminent graduation. The man was the same height as she and surprised her by his unassuming features and mannerisms. From Mr. Angstrum's description she was expecting someone far more impressive.

He introduced himself as Agent Coulson and Maria shook his hand. She directed him to her small kitchenette table, which was really the best place in the apartment to conduct an interview, and asked him if he'd like some tea or coffee.

"No, thanks," he said and opened up his briefcase to pull out a file.

Maria sat across from him as he did so. She was rattled when out of the file he produced a familiar photo and set it quietly on the table in front of her. Maria stared at the mug shot of the man, his face scratched badly, the marks, Maria knew, were made by tiny fingers. She looked up at the man across from her and tried to control her reaction.

"This is your father, right?" he asked, as if the photo was a normal picture you'd find in a family album.

Maria nodded.

"You're mother told us," he said.

Maria swallowed down her emotions and gave the man across the table from her a cold, hard glare.

"What do you want?" she asked.

Agent Coulson's face never wavered, it remained the calm, pristine mask it had been since she'd opened the door.

"I'd like to know," he said as he pulled out another photo and placed it next to the one of Maria's father. "How you did this."

The photo was of Brady, it wasn't a mug shot, but the broken nose, black eyes, and stitches across his forehead, didn't make it much more flattering.

"Am I under arrest?" she asked, wondering why Mr. Angstrum would do this to her.

The placid face slowly broke into a small smile.

"No, Miss Hill," he said. "I can assure you the last thing I want to do is arrest you."

Then he stared at her a moment before continuing.

"You did this," he pointed between the photos. "Without any prior training."

Maria furrowed her eyebrows at him. She wasn't sure where this was going, but she was liking it less and less.

"This," he pointed at her father. "You did when you were ten."

"I thought I was going to die," she said coldly, though that wasn't entirely true. Death, she knew, would have been better than what that man had planned for her.

"Hmm-hmm," was Agent Coulson's reply, before he removed the photos and returned them to his briefcase.

Maria relaxed slightly.

"You did that on instinct," the man resumed. "Think what you can do with some training."

Maria quirked an eyebrow at him. She suddenly had a bad feeling that he was CIA. She knew they recruited top students, but she had never really given it a thought. She had planned on going on for her Masters, then, maybe, her doctorate, and settling into a teaching or research position somewhere. She certainly never imagined becoming a spy.

"I can give you a chance," he told her. "Only a chance. One that will change you and might change the world. I've looked at your transcripts and spoken with some of your professors. You are probably the most promising candidate I've looked at in the last ten years. You have an eye for details, an impeccable work ethic, and, I think, your past shows that you have the sort of tenacity and strength of character my organization is looking for."

Maria stared at him in surprise. Her past told him that? When she thought about her past, and she tried not to, strength was never a word that entered her mind. Weak was a better descriptor, she was sure.

"Who do you work for?" Maria asked.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," he said.

"SHIELD?" she asked.

"You've heard of us?"

She shook her head.

"It's what the initials spell," she said.

He raised his eyebrows, then a wider smile came across his face.

He reached into his case again and pulled out a small packet of papers. He set them in front of her.

"Read these," he said. "They're just waivers and privacy clauses for the discussion we're about to have. You can sign them when you're ready."

He took a pen from his pocket and set it next to the stack, Maria glanced at it, then away, then immediately returned her gaze. She quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Captain America pen?" she asked.

"You know Captain America?" he seemed pleased.

"History is one of my majors, Agent Coulson," she said, then started the reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Just a tiny bit of Steve coz I had to tie them together at this age as well. :) I'm still out as to how much my Steve will be the movie Steve versus the 1940s comic book Steve. He'll probably end up an odd combo of the two.
> 
> Special thanks to Still Waters. I had been contemplating throwing in my favorite couple (Scarecrow & Mrs. King) at some point in this chapter but was somewhat on the fence. Her last chapter of An Evening Stroll reminded me that she'd used a couple from MASH earlier in the story and I'd loved it so I decided to put them in. Sorry for you yunguns who mightn't have heard of the show, more's the pity. ;) I had to honor them at some point since I was writing FF for them way back in the 80s. :)
> 
> So, I don't know about you, but I was glad to see BAMF Maria again. I do so love that side of her. I don't write it often because my stories are mostly about her relationship with Steve and, well, I hope that wouldn't include a lot of BAMF moments. :D
> 
> I have a few more stories in the works, including a one shot I'll probably post Friday. If you want to know more about that, and any other stories I'm working on, stop by my dreamwidth dot org (I'm CaptainHillShipper there, as well.) site. I also have a playlist that goes with the forthcoming story on 8tracks dot com...same name. :)


	5. Loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And so we come to the end of my terrible treatment of my favorite couple. ;) Surprisingly, it was Steve who gave me trouble this time. I will explain it after the story. I do have to apologize up front for something I made Steve do in the middle part of his story. It was really the only thing I could think he would do that would make him completely lose his control. So, please don't hate me. :D
> 
> Please R&R.

 

Gone.

Everything.

Everyone.

Familiar.

Normal.

Gone.

Change was all there was, and the chaos 70 years worth of it produced in Steve Rogers' mind.

He stared at the page in front of him. Blank, except the six words. He'd intended to draw, sketch something, do something familiar, something he'd enjoyed. Only, every image his mind conjured was replaced with the change around him. He couldn't focus long enough.

Sighing, Steve rubbed his face with his hands, then pushed his chair away from the desk. Walking over to the window of the sparsely furnished room, he stared down at the chaos on the street below. While the streets of New York had never been particularly calm or even tame, to Steve they now seemed far worse. The people with their busy rush and their cold eyes passing each other as if they were alone on the street, as if there were no other people in the world.

A knock at the door shook Steve from his thoughts, and he wondered, again, if SHIELD hadn't installed some sort of camera in his room. He'd been assured it was completely private, but Steve couldn't shake the feeling he was constantly under surveillance.

He walked to the door, and opening it discovered Director Nick Fury. Steve glanced at his watch and saw that it was nearly lunch. He apologized for not being ready, then walked to the closet. He pulled out a shirt then looked in the mirror as he buttoned it up. He tucked it and straightened the collar as he walked over to his shoes, into which he slipped his feet.

Fury waited in silence at the threshold for Steve to finish. In the back of his mind Steve thought that maybe he should have invited the man in but SHIELD had had access to his private life, if you could call it a life, since he woke. He wasn't willing to give them any more. It was bad enough he was still living in SHIELD headquarters. He was fairly certain he couldn't escape if he wanted. Sometimes Steve wondered if they hadn't put a tracking device in his body somewhere. He'd read about the technology and it terrified him. Where was the freedom he'd fought, died, for?

He followed Director Fury down the hall to the elevator. This was just part of Steve's routine. Lunch with the director and an opportunity to ask any question, learn something about modern life. Today was slightly different, Steve noticed. Instead of pressing the button that would take the elevator to the floor where Fury's office was located, he pressed a different level.

"Thought we'd take lunch in the officer's mess," the Director informed Steve.

That idea didn't particularly appeal to Steve. It was annoying enough to have to tolerate the stares and the whispers in the halls, he didn't relish the idea of having to put up with it through his meal. But he remained silent. So far his opinion had counted for nothing and he couldn't expect this to be any different.

Stepping out of the elevator after Fury, Steve kept his gaze forward. Yet he registered the glances, the whispers, the out-right flirting, but he ignored it all, especially the flirting. The latter was, to be honest, humiliating. He always felt like he was on display, and that action just intensified the feelings.

By the time they had reached the mess, Steve was sure he'd have lost his appetite if not for the fact the serum increased his metabolism 400 times a normal person, and if he didn't eat, a lot, he would have problems later. Fury led him to a table in the front of the room, and showed Steve his seat. It wasn't difficult to realize everyone had noticed him enter. The room, which had been filled with people talking over each other only a moment ago, now was relatively silent.

Steve was relieved when their food was brought promptly to them. Fury indicated that Steve would need a second serving as soon as possible. There was a time when that comment would have brought a flush to Steve's face, but now he felt almost numb. He could feel the cold of the ice he'd been buried in for 70 years creeping into his heart further each day.

As he slowly began to eat, his awareness of the stares and whispers brought to mind further loss: Loss of dignity, privacy, self-respect. He was once again on parade, just as he had been in the early days after he'd received the super-soldier serum. Not fighting, as he'd dreamed, but sitting, standing, playing to be people's entertainment. Not for the first time, Steve wished he'd just been left in that ice.

For his part, Fury ignored the people. Steve wondered if the man was used to it. He was still unsure how the transition from the segregation of his day had occurred. But knowing people the way he had, he was sure it hadn't been easy. He wondered if Fury had received these same stares and whispers. He'd have thought those musings would make him feel more camaraderie with the Director, but SHIELD still wouldn't let him out of their sites so that squashed any good will he would have normally summoned.

Steve's thoughts were interrupted by a woman's voice behind him.

"Director Fury," she said. "Captain."

Steve turned to greet whoever it was, but the woman only kept walking, as Director Fury nodded at her in passing. Steve stared at her back as she walked over to a table by the window. She sat, pulled something Steve knew was called a tablet out from under her arm, and began to press the screen, doing whatever it was SHIELD personnel did with those things.

"That's Deputy Director Maria Hill," Fury informed him. "You haven't met?"

Steve shook his head, and turned his eyes back to his food. Great, so there was a woman in charge as well. Not that he minded, just that he minded if she was going to be like all the other women. He didn't particularly care to be subordinate to a woman who was gawking at him all the time.

Maybe most men would have seen an opportunity in the situation. Most men in Steve's position could have used that perceived vulnerability to get certain favors from the Deputy Director, like a place to live that wasn't related to SHIELD in any way. Steve didn't think like that, however. Using another person for his gain was not his way.

He watched her from the corner of his eye as Fury continued to talk. He was saying something about the infrastructure of SHIELD as compared to the SSR. When her food arrived, the Deputy Director barely acknowledged. She ate as if it was a part of her daily schedule that had to be maintained, not as if she particularly was interested in it. As he watched her work throughout her meal, he wondered absently if she was even aware of what she ate. Her focus on her work was so intent. But the thing Steve noticed most was that she never once looked at him. There were no furtive glances, no supposedly subtle dropping of the napkin or utensil for an excuse to cast her gaze in his direction. For all he could tell, she thought of him no more than she thought of the chairs and tables in the room. And, for the first time since he'd awoken at SHIELD, Steve felt himself relax.

He finished the rest of his meal, and listened as Fury talked on, he even asked some questions now that he had found a way to shut out the stares and whispers. He just focused on the woman by the window, the one for whom Steve was just another person. It didn't make everything perfect, but it did make this afternoon more bearable.

Later, he sat on his bed with his back resting on the headboard, sketchbook in his lap and his pencil moving across the page with practiced ease, as if he hadn't been frozen under the ice for 70 years, as if he'd just set down his old sketchbook this morning and picked it up again this evening. Slowly, the image of a woman, gaze intent on her task, took form. Her serious eyes and slightly downturned mouth seemed to him the most fascinating things he'd encountered since waking.

He saw her again the next evening. It had been another frustrating day for him. Fury was going off base and introduced him to Agent Jasper Sitwell informing Steve the man would now be helping him acclimate. Steve, honestly, was to the point where he wondered if acclimation was even possible. Even Fury's mention of the impending chance to go on missions failed to interest him. Agent Sitwell asked him to have dinner with some other agents, Steve supposed to make him feel more welcome. The only thing it did for Steve was remind him of all the meals he'd shared with The Howling Commandos and though he ate well he felt empty at the end.

Needing to work out yet another disappointment, he headed to the gym afterwards. He pounded away at the bag, wishing he could pound out the pain in the same way. He'd been at the bag for hours, three broken so far, and it was late enough that he was as alone as he liked, no stares from curious eyes. He heard the door swing open and sighed inwardly. Pausing and stilling the bag with his hands, he looked up to see the Deputy Director walk in. She glanced at him briefly, then nodded and went straight to her workout. Steve felt a sense of relief, glad she hadn't been like the other women he'd met in the gym early on, glad she didn't come over and introduce herself and flirt with him. Why couldn't the others just treat him this way? Leave him to go about his business, not look at him like he was some animal on display in the zoo, or, worse, as Agent Sitwell put it earlier, meat to be devoured.

He watched her again; she seemed oblivious to his presence as she worked the machines. Steve couldn't resist a slight grin as he realized she was here for the same reason as he and wondered what it was that she was so stressed about. He supposed that as a leader in an organization like SHIELD it was probably even multiple things.

Finally, he looked up at the clock and realized he'd been in the gym for several hours. Feeling like a shower would be nice, at last, he picked up his gym bag and walked toward the door. Something stopped him just before he grabbed the handle and he turned back to look at the woman working the machines like she was trying to break them, or herself. She'd been nice enough to treat him like a human being, one of the only people who had in SHIELD, he felt he should at least go and introduce himself.

Suddenly, he felt something familiar, only it wasn't something nice and familiar, it was the dread he'd always felt when having to speak with a woman. He told himself he needed to get used to this, she would be his superior if he stayed at SHIELD after his so-called acclimation period. He took a deep breath and fought his fears as he walked over to her.

He stood near her for a moment until he realized she had no idea he was even in the room anymore. That idea made him even more nervous. Taking a deep breath, he forced out his words.

"You know, you might try the bag," he said quietly, hoping not to startle her. "I don't think the machines were meant to be treated so roughly."

From the look she gave him, he had failed miserably at not startling her. He forced back his nerves and offered her a hand to help her up from the bench. She glanced at it, then ignored it and stood on her own. Steve groaned inwardly. He was never going to understand things. But, he was here and he might as well go through with it now, then he could leave and try to figure out exactly what he'd done wrong this time.

"I'm not sure we've ever been properly introduced," he said, then held out his hand again.

"Steve Rogers," he said.

She scrutinized him for a moment, as if she was surprised that he was speaking to her. Despite his growing uneasiness, he held her gaze, then was rewarded with her taking his hand.

"Maria Hill," she said.

Steve was certain he should say something else but he suddenly found himself tongue-tied as he looked at her. He grimaced inwardly as he thought that at least this was something familiar, though certainly not the familiar he'd desired.

It occurred to him then that he was rudely staring at her and he averted his eyes quickly.

"I, uh," he started, trying to think of something to say to her. "I'm leaving, so if you want to use the bag."

Which was really just a repeat of what he'd said earlier, he realized too late. He pointed over to the bag he'd left. He did usually try to leave at least one undamaged bag.

She only nodded mutely at him, so he picked up his bag and left for his quarters, without so much as a "goodnight," because he was certain he'd mess that up as well. He didn't want to make a guess at what she was thinking of him now. Steve jerked open the door to the stairwell, then took the steps, three and four at a time, up to his floor. Throwing open the door to his quarters, he tossed the bag roughly onto the floor.

He stepped into the shower and tried to scrub the stress out with the sweat of the day. The one person who hadn't gawked or stared at him since he'd awoke in this bewildering place now thought he was a fat-head. Only they didn't say 'fat-head' anymore, did they? It was now dumb, or moron, or words he'd never have said in front of a woman that now poured forth from the mouths of children.

Turning up the heat in the water as hot as his skin could take, he let the shower beat his back in hopes of removing some of the tension. One month, he reminded himself. It had only been a month since he'd awoke in this bewildering place. It was going to take time to get used to the way things were. The only other option was to go mad. Slowly he relaxed, trying to find a focus, looking for something good to come out of this. He knew he might not see it now, but at some point he had to find it.

He toweled off, then dressed in pajamas and crawled into his bed. Picking up his sketch book from the side-table, he started to draw, first buildings he remembered from his past, then, as he started to find enjoyment in it, he tried faces, people he'd known. He smiled as pictures of his mother and Bucky emerged. He was relieved to find that sketching things from his memory was beginning to calm him. The hours passed, and still he didn't tire. But at least tonight things seemed slightly more pleasant.

It was nearly 5am when Steve looked back through his sketches and a feeling as close to despair he'd ever had came over him. They were all fine, except the picture of Peggy. He had drawn her in the red dress she'd worn to the club the night Bucky had met her. But it was all wrong, the proportions were different than he recalled, and her face wasn't right at all. For a moment he feared he had forgotten what she looked like, then he recognized the face. In a moment of rash anger, Steve tore the page out of his book then stalked over to the trashcan where he proceeded to rip the paper into confetti.

He leaned back against the wall and sank to the floor. Closing his eyes, his body shook as, in his mind, he tore apart the room. He had decided right away after being returned to SHIELD headquarters after waking that acting on his anger and fear would not gain him anything, so he took it out on the bag, and when he was alone in his room, he'd tear the place apart in his mind.

This was the worst, though. This time, his outrage was against himself. He hated himself because he had drawn another woman in Peggy's place. What was wrong with him? It had only been a month in his way of looking at things since he'd seen her. Was he actually trying to replace her? How could he do that?

He finally slowed his breathing and tried to rationally think through what had just happened. He realized that in the back of his mind he had been thinking about Maria Hill and what she must think of him now that they'd spoken, if he could call it that. He somehow had started to compare that to the first conversation he'd had with Peggy. His mind was just still confused. Steve took several gulps of air then stood to return to the bed and picked up the sketch book again. This time, he focused his mind on that night, bringing to mind his feelings he'd had as he watched her walk in, the look in her eyes, the fact that she only looked at him, ignoring everyone else in the room, he could have believed for a moment they really were the only two there. This time, the picture was perfect and Steve set it up next to his bed on the nightstand. He relaxed and closed his eyes to get a few hours sleep.

The following Sunday, Steve realized that there might be something, one thing, that couldn't have possibly changed.

"Agent Sitwell," Steve said as the man waved him into his office and pointed to the chair across the desk from him.

Steve sat and explained his request.

"I'd like to attend Mass," he said.

Agent Sitwell looked at him for a moment as if he was regarding an anomaly. Surely people still attended church, Steve wondered.

Slowly, the agent began to nod.

"Well, it's been several years since I attended, but I think there's a church nearby we can go to," he finally said. "How about next Sunday?"

Steve sighed in relief and nodded his agreement.

Monday morning he stopped by requisitions where he'd been told his first day he could ask for just about anything and they'd get it for him.

"I need a suit," he told the woman in the office.

"Sure thing," she said, and he was relieved she asked no questions.

She took his measurements, then asked him what color he wanted (black) and when he needed it (by Satruday).

"And a rosary," he said, before he left.

That, she did raise an eyebrow to, but went into the backroom and brought out a white box. Inside Steve found a plain wood rosary. It wasn't anything fancy, but he never supposed it needed to be.

On Friday he received a call to pick up his suit and he took the lift to the basement office. The week had been his best so far, the thought that he was going to do something he'd understand, something that had been the same for centuries before he was even born, gave him such a sense of relief. It was at least a step toward learning how to live in this new world.

He tried on the suit and the fellow in requisitions asked him if he had a date or if this was some formal meeting with officials.

Steve shook his head.

"I'm going to Mass on Sunday," he said.

An odd look came over the man's face at that point. It was slightly different than the one Agent Sitwell gave him.

"Conservative type church?" the man asked.

"Um, Catholic," Steve answered, unsure what the man meant.

In hindsight, Steve wished he'd been more curious. That thought started when he opened the door to Agent Sitwell Sunday morning. Steve was surprised to see the man in civilian clothing. He'd never seen the agent wear anything but a suit. This morning he was in shorts and a multi-color button up shirt, un-tucked, with loafers.

"Uh," Steve wasn't even sure what to say.

"Oh," Agent Sitwell commented. " _That_  kind of church."

Then he pursed his lips and slightly shook his head.

"Well, it's too late to change now," he said. "Let's go."

Steve followed him down the hall to the lift and tried, for what seemed the thousandth time since he awoke, to fight back the feelings of displacement. He was silent on the car ride to the church, trying not to think of how badly this was probably going to go. Whatever Steve had feared, it was worse.

He noticed in the parking lot two things. One, he was the only young man wearing a suit. The only others wearing suits were men in their 70s and 80s. Two, the church didn't even look like a church. It looked like a rec hall, at least that was as close a description as Steve could think.

When they entered the building, he saw a small fountain like something seen in a garden or park, but there was no font. Agent Sitwell and the people who had walked in before him dipped their hands into the fountain and crossed themselves. Steve's collar suddenly felt too tight, and he found himself again flat-footed. He followed suit then continued into the church. It was, as the outside appeared, more of a hall than a church. There were no pews, only chairs set up in rows. No windows lined the tan painted walls, no images for the Stations of the Cross. In the front of the church the wall was painted white, there was no altar, no chancel, no cross, nothing that should have been there. Instead there was with a small podium, and to the right of the podium several men and women stood holding guitars and tambourines, and one man sat at a drum set.

The people in the building, he could no longer bring himself to call it a church, stood around talking, greeting each other, while children ran through the aisles and crawled under the chairs. A man's voice sounded out over a speaker asking everyone to find a place and worship. As Steve watched, he was shocked that the people simply walked to the chairs, not one person, not even an old person, genuflected before entering a row.

As he followed Agent Sitwell to a chair he leaned over to the man and asked, "Are you sure this is a Catholic church?"

He only nodded and if he'd tried to say anything else, Steve never would have heard him, because then the music from the band started and Steve was certain his ears were ringing as loudly as they'd ever been in battle.

After five minutes of the "Mass" Steve began to seriously contemplate what sins he'd committed that landed him in Purgatory. Though he'd always tried to do what was right he knew he wasn't perfect. Maybe that lie he'd told his mother, the one about the school dance. Or maybe because he hadn't always attended Mass like he should have after his mother died, and hadn't made confession since he'd joined the Army. Or maybe it was a sin to kill even in a time of war or in self-defense. After five more minutes Steve simply couldn't take it anymore and leaned over to tell Agent Sitwell he wanted to leave. As he left, he realized he'd never walked out of Mass before. But that couldn't be Mass, could it?

"What was that?" he turned and asked Agent Sitwell.

The man shrugged.

"It was Mass,"

Steve shook his head.

"No, it wasn't," he said. "I don't know what you think Mass is, but that's not it. Have you ever been to Mass?"

"Sure," the agent told him. "I went a few times when I was a kid. This is just a more updated version."

Steve took a steadying breath and got into the car. For the first time the sight of SHIELD headquarters brought him relief. He spent the next few days in the archives reading up on something called Vatican 2 and shaking his head, a lot.

Two weeks later, Fury decided to let him have his "own" apartment in the Capitol. He wasn't sure what had brought about such a sudden change but he wasn't going to argue. Yes, technically the apartment belonged to SHIELD, but it was a step in the right direction.

Agent Sitwell, Steve still didn't feel comfortable calling someone who was monitoring him by his first name, was showing him the apartment and explaining the security system when they walked into the kitchen and noticed a few papers on the table. The agent picked them up to look at them and laughed loudly.

"Damn, Maria, you are your agent-father's daughter," he said, then handed the papers to Steve without further explanation.

Steve looked at them and noticed the top one was some type of flyer mentioning Mass times at a local church. Highlighted in yellow were the words: "Latin Mass, Sunday, 10:30 am."

On the second page, there was a list of several other churches in the Arlington diocese, along with their Latin Mass times.

"In case the closest doesn't work out," had been written at the bottom of the list in the block lettering of someone who was used to filling out forms.

He looked up at Agent Sitwell who was waiting to continue the tour.

"I don't understand," he told him.

"I told her about our, um, experience at Mass," he said, then started to laugh again. "She called me a fucking idiot, then she mentioned something about eviscerating Fury in his sleep."

"Who did?" Steve asked.

"Maria Hill," he replied.

"Deputy Director Maria Hill?" Steve was surprised.

"Of course," he said. "She's been riding Fury's ass about you since, well, never mind."

Sitwell waved his hand around to indicate the apartment.

"This was her idea."

"Why?"

But Agent Sitwell only shook his head.

"It's not important," he said, then went on to finish the tour.

As he was leaving Steve to unpack his very small amount of belongings, Agent Sitwell paused and appeared to consider his next words carefully. Finally, he turned to Steve.

"You're gonna hear a lot of things about Maria," he said. "She's a hard woman. She doesn't put up with anyone's shit. She can't."

He paused and Steve ventured a guess.

"Because she's a woman?"

Agent Sitwell nodded.

"I've known her a long time," he continued. "She's tough, sometimes mean, but she's fair. She can be a bitch to work for, but she's devoted to her service and I think you're the kind of man who understands that."

Steve nodded, then Agent Sitwell stepped out the door.

"Agent Sitwell," Steve stopped him and gave him a hard stare. "If you refer to her as a 'bitch' in my presence again, I'll put you through a wall."

Agent Sitwell's face broke into a huge grin.

"You and I are gonna get along very well, Captain," then he left, laughing lightly and shaking his head.

* * *

Deputy Director Maria Hill stood on the gallery deck of the severely damaged hellicarrier. It was currently anchored several hundred kilometers off the Eastern Seaboard, despite its need for dry-dock repairs. That would come later, after SHIELD tended to more important business.

Maria listened as Director Nick Fury shared the eulogy for one of the only people she had ever called "friend," Phil Coulson. Standing at ease next to Fury, Maria stared at a fixed point ahead of her and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. Somewhere in the back of her ordered mind, Maria ticked off a list of all the reasons Coulson should not have died. She wasn't sure if she was trying to place blame, though to be sure all the blame was Loki's, or if she was still trying to wrap her mind around the reality of his death.

A SHIELD without Phil Coulson was not an idea Maria had ever entertained. He had been there long before she and, as foolish as she knew it was, she'd always thought she'd be at his retirement party. She shouldn't have thought that far ahead, but it was hard not to when it came to Coulson. He was the one who had come to her, given her hope for a future she couldn't have imagined growing up, or even as a young adult trying to pull herself out of her past. She just never conceived that the future was not intended to include him.

As Fury finished his speech and the focus of those gathered shifted to the casket covered with the American flag, Maria allowed herself a glance over to Clint Barton. In the few days since the battle in New York, Maria knew that Barton had received numerous threats and not much of a grateful welcome back. In a way she understood the feelings other agents had, but this was Barton, Hawkeye, one of her only friends, she could not bring herself to hold him responsible for his actions under Loki's control. When she thought on that moment in New Mexico, the moment she first saw him with Loki, she realized what happened to him could just have well happened to her. Loki had passed barely a meter away from her before Fury had notified her that Barton had been turned. She pushed that thought aside quickly, the whole incident still gave her nightmares, and probably would for months to come.

Barton seemed to have found at least some companions. Maria had expected nothing less from Natasha than to let what Barton had done under Loki's control stay in the past, but she hadn't expected the same from the other Avengers. They stood with him now, their group apart from the other agents and personnel. It was fitting, they really didn't belong among them, even Natasha and Clint now seemed somehow larger than life.

Maria returned her focus to the platform at the hellicarrier's edge. Slowly it was raised to a 45 degree angle and the flag lifted as Phil's coffin slid off the side of the ship and into the water below. Maria felt her breath hitch as she watched it disappear. There was an ache inside her that she had never known through all her years at SHIELD, no matter how many funerals she had attended. It reminded her of her greatest loss, but she quickly took a steadying breath and forced herself to focus on the present, where there was certainly enough pain.

Fury said some final words, then people who had brought flowers walked over to the ledge and dropped them into the sea where Coulson's casket had entered the water. After, in groups and singles, they dispersed to their various areas of responsibility in order to prepare the hellicarrier to return to port. Maria waited until they had all gone, then walked over. She pulled a small green paper from her pocket.

_"It's an 'e-ticket,'" Coulson told her._

_"A what?" Maria looked over to him from the framed piece of paper hanging at her eye level on the wall of his office._

_"An 'e-ticket,'" he repeated. "You know, from the old days at Disneyland."_

_She shook her head._

_"I guess it's after your time," Coulson said._

_"What do they use now?" she asked, returning to read the words, though, with the exception of 'Disneyland' none of them meant anything to her._

_It took her a moment to realize he had stopped talking and was staring at her. She turned and saw a surprised look on his face._

_"You've never been, have you?" he stated, more than asked._

_Maria shook her head and reminded herself to add that to her list of reasons she was inadequate. From the tone of his voice, Phil must have thought Disneyland was some sort of rite of passage in which every person had to participate._

_"Well, that's just wrong," he said, but Maria shrugged her shoulders._

_"It's just an amusement park," she told him as she turned away from the frame and the wall._

_"Just a," Phil sputtered, and Maria would have laughed if she'd been the kind to do such things._

_He shook his head at her then turned back to his desk. Lifting the phone handle, he pressed a few numbers then waited. When the other person came on the line he informed them that he and Hill were taking an assignment in LA and they'd be back in about a week or so, however long it took._

_When he hung up he turned back to Maria._

_"Pack your bags," he said. "Wheels up in 2 hours. We're going to LA."_

_Maria thought that should have been obvious, since she'd just heard him say so, but she had learned not to talk back to Phil. She had far more respect for him than she'd had the two years prior when she first began to work under him._

_"What's the assignment?" she asked._

_Phil gave her a blank look, as if, that too, should have been obvious._

_Finally, Maria asked, "What sort of apparel should I pack?"_

_Phil waited a moment to answer her, as he seemed to study her like she was an anomaly. Maria tried not to let it intimidate her._

_"Casual," he told her. "And bring comfortable walking shoes."_

_Maria nodded curtly then walked from the office._

_She met him inside the quinjet fifteen minutes before their scheduled departure. Sitting next to him and strapping in after stowing her bags, she asked him for the mission briefing. He turned to her again and gave her the same look he had when he realized she'd never been to Disneyland. Maria bit back the snide remark she wanted to give him and waited for him to respond appropriately._

_At last, he shook his head as if in disbelief then told her it would be waiting for them in LA. She thought that odd but didn't see a reason to argue with him over it. She pulled out her laptop and decided that since there wasn't a briefing to go over, she could work on memorizing the new addends to the procedural manual. Next to her, she heard Phil chuckle at her choice of reading material, then he pulled out a_ Captain America _comic book and relaxed into his seat._

_When they arrived in LA a few hours later, there was a SHIELD van waiting for them. Phil went to talk with the driver as Maria put their bags into the back. Climbing in and taking a seat in the back, Maria waited for Phil to give her the brief, but he just continued to chat amiably with the driver. It would have been fine except about ten minutes into the commute, she noticed the driver was watching her in the rear view mirror and that his look was one of mirth, as if he knew a joke about her of which she was unaware. She tried to concentrate on the city passing by her on the side of the freeway and ignored the two men up front._

_They finally exited the freeway and Maria took in the scene before her, memorizing street names and businesses and trying to get a feel for the area. There appeared to be a lot of motels on the side of the road opposite the freeway. They passed a Super 8 then a Travelodge. When they crossed a street called "Ball Rd" Maria saw red direction signs ahead. When she read them her mouth fell open and she looked at Phil. He had a huge grin on his face and for a moment she suspected he was mocking her. But then she saw that glint he always had in his eyes whenever he did something he hoped would help someone else. It wasn't pity, thankfully, and she'd seen it enough to know that she could safely smile back._

_The driver was another story. He was having a good laugh at the situation, at least until Maria gave him a look that reminded the man that her reputation for doling out swift death to enemies was a hard earned one. He quickly looked away and, when he had dropped Maria and Phil off outside the Disneyland Resort Hotel, he drove off in a hurry._

_Still, Maria couldn't quite believe they were just here to enjoy the park so she turned to Phil and asked what their assignment was, exactly._

_He gave her the same look as earlier and said, "To have fun, kid."_

_And fun they had. For a week they rode every ride in both Disneyland and California Adventure, visited every restaurant in the parks and hotels, and on the walk. They swam in the pool, took each other's pictures with every character they met, and laughed. Maria had never laughed so much in her life. Phil was a riot, he knew more jokes than Maria thought could possibly exist. But when he stopped with her outside the door to her room on their last night, Maria felt the fear she'd kept at bay all week start creeping in._

_"I don't think I can repay you for this," she said, hoping he understood how she felt about things like that, that there were certain things she wasn't willing to do for the job or for the people she worked with, no matter how much they wined and dined her._

_She saw a sad look pass across his face, as if he knew what she was inferring and wished she didn't think so little of him._

_"You never have to repay a friend," he told her._

_Then he smiled at her and told her goodnight before heading to his own room._

_When they returned to their New York base, Maria found a small envelope on her desk. Opening it she found Coulson's prized 'e-ticket' with a note that said, "Thanks for an 'e-ticket' time. Your friend, Phil."_

Maria stood on the edge of the hellicarrier now, choking back the tears. She had never had a friend before Phil. And now with him gone she had to face the fact that people like Sitwell and Barton might not be far behind. And if they were gone, Maria shuddered at the thought.

Finally reining in her emotions, Maria raised the ticket to her lips. She kissed it and whispered, "I'll miss you, my friend." Then she released it and watched as the wind carried it away.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, it could have been five minutes or five hours for how numb she suddenly found herself. But after a while she felt a large hand on her shoulder. She turned, expecting to see Fury come to get her to return to her post, but it was Steve Rogers. She was surprised at the depth of the pain she saw in his eyes. But she stiffened and bit back any sort of sympathy she might have for the man. She still hadn't forgiven him for brushing off Phil when they'd first arrived.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," he told her, his voice soft and strong at the same time. "I'm sure he was a great friend."

Maria almost gave into her emotions again, but she couldn't afford to let Captain America think her some weak, overly emotional woman like he'd probably known in the old days. She nodded at him, then excused herself to return to the bridge.

She walked steadily across the gallery deck and when she entered the door, she turned back and looked at Captain America. He stood next to the ledge, his hands stuffed deep into his pants pockets, eyes staring out across the water. He looked like someone who had lost everything, and then, Maria remembered, he had. For a moment she thought about going back to him, was, in fact, surprised by the pull at her heart, but that would be inviting friendship and somewhere between the edge of the hellicarrier and the door, she had decided that she didn't need any more entanglements that were only destined to end in the pain of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The part of the story about the Mass was inspired by a post at The Lady Scribe's DreamWidth. I'd been looking for some way to convey in a very deep and emotional, yet brief, way the changes that Steve is facing, and I was stuck. But a post about an error on Steve's dog tags in the movies listing him as Protestant instead of Catholic prompted someone to mention how confused Steve would be just attending Mass. I'll write a bit more about that on my DreamWidth so if you are interested in those thoughts, that's where it'll be. (Same handle: CaptainHillShipper)
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoyed it. I have a "happy" story to post later this weekend, if I can get one part that's hanging me up finished. Then I will take a two week fanfiction break (mostly) to focus on finally finishing my sequel to All This Time.
> 
> Have a Happy Independence Day (in the US, anyway).

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This whole story is the darkest thing I've ever written. I can guarantee I will never write anything this dark again. It sounded so much easier when I came up with the idea, but once I got into it...Anyway, what I had hoped to do with this story is to give more background, especially of Maria since as far as the movies go, we don't know much. Steve's history in my story is, so far, his original 1940s history. I'm not sure how true I will stay to that as it would change Cap1, since in the original Captain America comics Steve didn't meet Bucky until *after* he was Captain America. (You can thank Castle for that info since that's where I learned that I needed to do research. ;0)) Maria's history I started way back in the first story. At that time I had only read about her in fanfic and I had a variety of histories for her in my head. I went with her mother as her main parent, quite honestly, because that was my own personal history so it was easier to write as I could relate. But Maria's mother will eventually make mine look like mother of the year, and that's when the writing began to get difficult, because who would do that sort of thing to a child? (Maria's history in the comics seems to be equally dark, only at the hands of her father.)
> 
> Mrs. Welch was my first grade teacher, I give her honor along with all the other teachers who saw more in me than my own family. If you are a teacher reading this, you have no idea how incredibly important you might be to one child.


End file.
